


Dress Code

by Kindle86



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Bisexuality, Cross-Dressing Character, Feels, Gender Non-Conforming Character, Homosexuality, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Mentions of trans-phobia, Pre-Slash, Slash, Some brief bigotted language, friends-to-lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 22:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kindle86/pseuds/Kindle86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny thinks he has a lovely, gorgeous weekend all to himself. Until Steve turns up unannounced and stumbles upon Danny's biggest secret. </p>
<p>This story includes a cross-dressing character, transcending of gender-norms, a LOT of FEELS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains a transgendered character-- but transgendered in the broadest sense of the term, where a character transcends gender norms, rather than in the current popular usage (ie there is no sexual reassignment, no surgery, no clear mismatch between the biological sex of the character and the mental sex/gender of the character). Basically, the character struggles with the boxes of 'masculine' and 'feminine', but does not seek to place himself wholly in one box or the other.

A weekend off. Not only off, but all to himself. Now _that_ was something truly remarkable. He was almost dancing in his seat as he drove himself home.  At least he would have been, had he had the energy.

It had been seemingly non-stop for weeks. Even after the bomb scare and the father-daughter dance (still one of the best nights of his life, even all things considered), the Five-0 caseload had failed to let up. Why couldn’t people stop _murdering_ each other and steeling things??

It had finally reached a point where even Steve had said enough was enough, and personally called the governor to inform him that Five-0 was taking some much-needed time off (albeit only a weekend). Kono had immediately called Adam and then informed her partners that she would not be answering her phone under _any_ circumstances, so not to even bother trying (he may have heard something about a romantic getaway and champagne and strawberries, but truthfully he didn’t really want to know). Chin had gracefully bowed out, his typical zen self, but Steve let slip that he was planning on taking some time to visit Malia’s favorite community garden. Steve had mentioned putting the days to good use by popping by the base and checking off some reservist tech training or some-such thing; Danny hadn’t really cared once it was clear that he would a) not be being shot at, and b) would be otherwise occupied.

Grace was at a two-week-long sleep-away camp with her Girl Scout troop (Aloha Girls, whatever), which meant Danny was officially all on his own this weekend. Which, quite frankly, was perfect.

As much as he loved his daughter and his team, appreciated their company, sometimes there were just things a person needed some alone time for. And Danny planned to make good use of his weekend, finally indulge himself and attempt to recuperate from the string of awfulness that had crossed their desks. Tomorrow. Because tonight, all he really had the energy for was the trek to his bedroom—and even then, he wasn’t sure he was going to make it.

Lying down on his mattress, still half-dressed, Danny shut the lights and let himself drift to sleep with the calming thought that he was off the hook and out of the closet for two whole days.

~*~*~*~

Morning brought (well, _late morning--_ Danny refused, on principle, to get out of bed before 10am on an official day off) warm sunshine and the customary sounds of the island. Which he was simply not equipped to deal with, sans coffee.

Putting on a pot to brew, he picked up his morning paper from outside his apartment door, and glanced over the news of the world. Coffee done, he took his mug into his bedroom to ready his wardrobe for after his imminent shower. He knew exactly what he planned to wear—had done since his drive home last night. Laying the clothes out on the bed, he popped into a piping hot shower, leisurely scrubbing the grime from the week’s case away—physically, and, as best he could manage (some images you just don’t forget), mentally.

Drying himself, he let the bathroom air out while he made his way to his bed, lifting up the white sundress that awaited him; it was simple, yet pretty in its simplicity. Small hints of yellow in the fabric accented the flowered cut-outs.

Donning the dress, Danny made his way back to the bathroom to stand in front of his mirror. Rather than combing his long hair back (to be slicked with gel), he parted it on the side, and let it frame his face. Then, he reached under the sink, pulling out the leave-in curlers that he hid behind the extra towels. His hair was naturally curly, and he wanted these to calm the long locks.

Waiting for his hair to set, he gave himself a very close shave, then dug out his make-up bag (from the same hiding place) (he’d have to move them soon—maybe to under his bed… it was a tricky thing to know when Grace would stop playing hide-and-seek and start digging through bathroom cabinets…). He chose a soft blue eye shadow, a brown liner that brought out his eyes, some ‘volumizing’ mascara, and blush. He never was one for foundation.  

Hair still in curlers, he went back to the kitchen for another cup of coffee, carrying an array of nail polishes. This, he didn’t need to hide—this was easy to blame on Gracie’s presence (though, he’d once had to hide his agitation when she’d wanted to take all the bottles to Rachel’s with her—she’d been under the impression that only girls painted nails with each other, but he’d patiently (and with somewhat of an ulterior motive) explained that he enjoyed bonding with his daughter over whatever she liked, and hadn’t he let her paint his nails countless times? What would make her think only her mom and she could do such things? She’d relented, and taken only half the bottles with her). That left him staring at his current assortment (which, over the months since that exchange, he’d enlarged by adding new colors—even the sparkles Grace liked (which he quickly learned are a _pain_ to get off your nails, especially when you need to go into work on short notice, thanks again criminal underworld)).

Pink? Light blue? Purple? Blue would match his eye shadow, but blue had never been his chosen color for nails—it reminded him too much of the corpses he’d seen. Purple was too dark for this outfit; pink it was.

Some might find it surprising to note (of course, if anyone found out, they’d find this entire thing surprising) that, despite Danny’s bombastic personality, he actually enjoyed painting his nails; the task was so precise, so detail-oriented, and so nice when completed, that he found it relaxing and rewarding.

He drank a third cup of coffee with fingers splayed open. It was a good blend, this stuff. He’d have to thank Kono for the birthday gift yet again (she’d plopped a big bag on his desk, wished him a happy birthday, and promised he’d like it—she was right).

Fingers dry, he debated painting his toes, but decided against it—maybe later. First, he needed to take his hair out of the curlers.

Running a soft, wide-toothed comb through his hair, he was pleased with the result. Adding a small clip to one side, a necklace and some clip-on earrings (toys he’d bought for Grace—but picked out because he’d personally liked them—years ago, before she’d had her ears pierced for her tenth birthday). Shoes (white open-toed sandals—he really should have painted his toes) and an anklet, and he was done.

He looked at his reflection in his long mirror. He knew no one would ever call him pretty (no one would ever have the chance, anyway—no one was ever going to find out about this), but few would really, he realized, call him particularly ‘hot’ when in his customary attire. Still, he was happy. And that, he had learned over the many years, was what mattered. Especially on his (solitary) day off.

He obviously had no plans to leave the apartment today—he couldn’t risk being seen like this, he was a public figure now (not as well-known, probably, as MaGarrett, but he had his share of photos in the paper, and he had a community now—Grace’s friends and their parents, work relations, HPD colleagues, etc). It was too bad, he thought to himself, because it really felt like a lovely day—sunny, not too hot (at least not yet). But having the windows open would have to be enough. He grabbed the book he was reading, and put his feet up, ready to enjoy some classic fiction (if, that is, he could remember what was going on—when was the last time he’d had time to read anything besides police reports and requisition forms?).

About half an hour into his leisure—around 12h30—there was a knock at the door. Danny froze.


	2. Chapter 2

The knock was soft at first—or at least, human. But when Danny did not make his way to the door, it grew louder and more barbarian-like. Or, should he say, SEAL-like, as the accompanying, “Danny! Open up! It’s Steve! Get your butt outta bed! I brought malasadas!” established.

Danny’s eyes widened so far he probably looked like one of those Pixar characters from _Tangled_.[i]

He softly, calmly, put his book down, and tiptoed his way to his bedroom.

“Danny! Open the door! Come on! I know you’re in there! Your car’s here, and there’s no way in hell you’d be out for some actual exercise on your day off. What’s going on in there! Come on!”

Danny locked his bedroom door, and sat on his bed, trying to get his breathing under control.

“Fine, I tried to be civil,” Steve mumbled, finally giving up the shouting. He maneuvered the two coffees and bag of malasadas in his hand in order to allow him to fish his key ring back out of his pocket. Finding the key to Danny’s apartment (which Danny had finally given him when he realized that Steve could pick the lock anyway, what was the point of resisting anymore?), and opened the door.

Danny’s breathing, which had almost, possibly, stood a chance at becoming regular once again, dangerously neared the border to hyperventilation as he heard the front door open and shut.

“Danno, come on, rise and shine!” Steve set the malasadas and coffee on the kitchen table and made his way to the closed bedroom door. Yet, he smelled coffee. Not his coffee (from the shop) but actual coffee. So Danno was up. Had to have been for at least as long as it took to brew coffee. He backtracked—yup, the pot was almost empty. He must have had at least three cups. Steve cocked his head; shower wasn’t running. What was going on?

Steve walked more softly to the bedroom door, knocking with two of his knuckles only. “Danno? You in there? Everything ok?”

Danny took a deep, shuddering breath, willing the rushing in his ears to die down. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, fine,” he managed, hoping it didn’t sound as strained as it felt (it did).

“What’s up? Something wrong?”

Another throat clearing. _Calm down, Daniel_ , he silently willed. Deep breath. “No, everything’s fine. Uh, aren’t you supposed to be on a base or something? Being a SEAL? What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, they had the files wrong—my training only took about four hours; I was already good to go on the other systems. I’m all caught up,” Steve informed him, still the traces of a question in his voice, wondering why he was having this conversation with a door instead of his partner.

“Oh, that’s great. Good for you. So, now you have the whole weekend free. To yourself.” Danny didn’t put emphasis on those last words… did he?

“Danny? Is there a reason we’re not having this conversation face-to-face?”

“Yeah, well, I, uh, (throat clearing) just got up. So, you gotta give me a minute here. To get my bearings. Why don’t you go and get yourself something for lunch, come back later?”

“Danny, you didn’t just get up. The coffee pot’s almost empty. What’s going on?” Steve looked around; no sign of a forced entry—and Danny hadn’t given him the ‘I’m being held against my will’ signal they’d worked out… but still, he couldn’t help but worry.

Maybe Danny really just didn’t want to see him, he realized. And that thought actually… _hurt_.

“Look, I get it if you wanted the time to yourself, bud. But you could at least tell me to my face, man,” he finally commented.

“No! No, Steve, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to blow you off, ok? I just, uh, need some time to put on some clothes.”

“Danny, _what_ is going on?! You’ve had plenty of time to throw on some jeans. I’ve seen you in your boxers man, and I’ve seen your crazy bed-head when you wake up from sleeping on my couch. None of this makes sense.” His frustration was greeted by silence.

Danny held his forehead in his hands, hunched over on the end of his bed. He had started out thinking this was going to be such a nice day…

“Fine, I don’t know what’s going on, but this is cold, man. And I brought you malasadas.”

“Look, Steven!” Danny started, shakily to be sure, but fired up nonetheless. “You cannot just barge into someone’s home and demand an… audience! A man has a right to some privacy, on his day off no less! I mean, I mean, you, you were supposed to be busy and everything, ok!? So do not go getting all sulky and affronted because I asked for 15minutes to get dressed!”

Steve was shocked. And yet, sure, he supposed, Danny might have had a point. But this was still ridiculous. Steve buried his concern that something was wrong and let the hurt-fueled anger win out: “Fine, I’ll go. Enjoy the fried dough.” Steve slammed the door on his way out.

Danny sat, taking in a deep breath. He still didn’t know if the other man planned to come back or not. He really didn’t know what to do—he’d upset him, but he wasn’t entirely in the wrong here, himself. And, oh, damn it, this whole situation was just so… argh, and on his day-off, on his _so promising_ day-off.

Danny cracked the bedroom door open, peeking out; coast seemed clear. He slowly emerged, making his way to the coffee table, where he’d left his phone—best to text and see if he should expect a return visit. Though, he supposed, the day felt pretty ruined now; probably should change into ‘normal’ clothes, regardless…and just in case. He sighed.

And then almost had a heart attack.

  


* * *

[i] I actually like Tangled, and realize it was not a Pixar film. But I thought that Danny would do well enough just to know the generalities behind computer animated movie companies. And, you must admit, the characters' eyes in _Tangled_ _are_ half their face.


	3. Chapter 3

The front door opened, and Steve forcefully re-entered, a scowl on his face, heading for the kitchen table—where there sat _two_ coffee cups.

Danny froze. Completely. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Just stared at Steve, like a dear in headlights.

Steve, catching his first glimpse of his partner, stopped mid “I want my cof—“

“Danny,” Steve began; his voice was calm, though surprised, and full of question—yet it was like he was stating a fact—identifying that this was, in fact, Danny, his partner, the man he’d known for over three years. Standing in front of him. In a sundress.

Danny could not move. He willed himself to move, he urged it. But his muscles, his limbs, they would not respond. Every neuron was firing on overdrive, yet nothing was happening.

And then he started to shake, uncontrollably, and his breathing sped up to an entirely unsustainable rate.

And if Danny couldn’t move, Steve _could._

It took Steve a moment to recover. Silently thankful he hadn’t managed to pick up his coffee before seeing Danny (because, let’s face it, there’d probably be a whole other mess to clean up), he made his way over to his partner, who was clearly having some sort of panic attack.

“Danny? Daniel. Can you hear me? Listen to my voice. Come here, and sit down,” Steve said, taking Danny by the shoulders and carefully maneuvering him onto the couch. He pulled Danny’s phone out of his vice-like grip, gently prying each finger from the device, mildly concerned that Danny would actually squeeze the thing so hard it would shatter. “Danny,” he said, trying for soothing tones, “you need to calm down, you’re going to hyperventilate.”

Danny showed no signs of calming down, his chest was rising and falling at an alarming pace—there was no way he was getting any oxygen.

“Ok,” Steve said, placing both hands on Danny’s thighs—which were covered, he noted, in flowery white cotton; he looked his partner in his made-up eyes (how had he not noticed that Danny had such long lashes?), “you are having a panic attack, Daniel. And you need to focus, ok? Focus on my voice. Look at me, watch me, _breathe with me.”_ Steve exaggerated his breaths, “In.” (pause) “Out.” (pause) “In.” (pause) “Out.” (pause)

Danny was struggling, trying to follow Steve. His eyes were dancing around the room, failing to find a focal point. “My, my hands,” Danny gasped out, struggling to take a breath, “feel tingly.”

“That’s because you’re not getting enough oxygen into your system. You’re putting yourself into shock, Daniel. But you can stop it, all you have to do is breathe, Danny. Breathe.” Danny’s eyes still refused to focus, so Steve took Danny’s face in his hands (he had no idea Danny’s hair could be so _soft)_ and forced eye contact. “Look at me Danny, and breathe. In. Out. In. Out.” Steve breathed with him.

It took several minutes of this (and at one point Steve considered calling the paramedics because Danny’s hands felt distressingly cold), but Danny finally regained some control and composure. After sitting on the sofa for a good seven minutes after he’d finally gotten his breathing under control—Steve holding his wrist and monitoring his pulse, Danny still trying to get the room to stop spinning—he finally was able to order his thoughts. He looked over at Steve, who looked up from his wristwatch and offered a “You seem to be doing better.”

Danny gazed at him, knowing he should reply, but instead he simply rose, turned, and walked into his bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind him.

It took Steve only a moment to follow him, torn between concern for his health and an uncertainty about the proper course of action. Surely, he shouldn’t leave—that would be a bad move for so many reasons. He should keep an eye on Danny, even though he was, ultimately, the reason for the panic attack to begin with. And yet, the man probably needed—and deserved—some privacy at the moment.

Tentatively, he knocked on the door. “Danny?” Steve started, unsure where to go from here. “Can, can I come in?” He didn’t get an answer, but, turning the knob, was unsurprised to find it locked. “Ok, that’s fine. You probably want some time… to yourself. I’m sorry that I, uh, ruined that, coming here… Like you said, this is your apartment and you certainly should have your space. But, I brought us coffee, and, uh, I don’t think I should leave—just in case of anything.” (He didn’t want to explicitly mention Danny’s little freak-out just yet.) “And we clearly probably need to talk. So, I’m just going to sit at the table, and drink my coffee, and, uh, oh! and read the paper—how nice.” And so he did.

He was starting to second-guess his approach when, thirty minutes later, he’d read nearly the entire news and sports sections, finding himself with only home-and-garden or sales fliers to occupy him, when the bedroom door opened slightly.

Danny emerged, an air of resignation about him; yet, he held his back straight, his eyes forward. He was wearing loose-fitting jeans and a button-down shirt, the kind he always wore to work. The sleeves were rolled up. His hair was back to its normal style. He wore no jewelry, no makeup (though, Steve could see the faint coloring of the blush and eye shadow still on his face—only traces, because he knew what he was looking for). He walked barefoot into the room. He refused to meet Steve’s eyes.

“Coffee’s probably cold by now, but I can brew a pot if you want,” Steve offered, motioning with the paper that he should have a seat.

“I’m fine thanks. As you so astutely pointed out,” Danny cleared his through gruffly, still dry from his panic attack, “I had some earlier.” Danny sat, staring at the table.

“Malasadas,” Steve said, tossing the bag to his partner.

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” Danny didn’t even reach for the bag, just let them land with a thud on the table in front of his seat.

“You? Turning down fried doughballs covered in sugar and filled with jelly? Now I know this must be serious,” Steve said with a quirk of his mouth in a half-hearted attempt at humor.

Danny glanced up at him, a begrudging non-smile briefly on his lips. “Very funny.”

“So…” Steve, again, knew they needed to talk, but had no idea how this conversation was supposed to go. But, it seemed clear that Danny wasn’t going to start it. “Look, I, uh, clearly ruined your day off. So, I’m sorry about that.”

Danny quirked a fleeting half-grin at that, complete with a less-than-mirthful laugh-sigh.

“And, look, I don’t want to push you. To talk. Or, you know, anything. Because, clearly, this was, something you were keeping to yourself—or at least from me, at any rate.”

Danny gave a curt nod, still not looking him in the eye. So, Steve leaned forward and took his friend’s hand, which was on his lap, bringing it to rest atop the table. “But I just want you to know, that, you _can_ talk, or whatever, if you want to. I mean, obviously, we need to do at least a little talking here, because otherwise I think things are probably going to be awkward as hell at work on Monday,” (they both huff-laughed at that) “but, really, as you’ve pointed out so often in the past, I have the, what was it? ‘emotional capacity of a guinea pig’? and I have _no idea_ how this conversation is supposed to go…”

Steve finally stopped searching out Danny’s eyes, and looked down to where he was still holding his hand. As he made to let go, he saw Danny was still wearing the pink nail polish. Danny tensed, seizing up and losing whatever (incredibly minute) relaxation he’d achieved during Steve’s attempt to start a conversation.

“You wanna know how this conversation goes?” Danny asked, shakily, but with an edge to his voice. His hand clenched, but Steve held on to his wrist. “I get to offer you my resignation, either now, or later, when you realize you can’t possibly work with me any longer. And I get to request—or, basically, _beg_ ” (Danny practically spat the word) “that you keep this between the two of us, so that my entire career doesn’t become some joke and I can maybe, _maybe_ find another position by which to support myself and my daughter, hopefully without my name being dragged through the mud and my entire world crumbling—which it’s very nearly doing right now.”

Danny took a long breath, trying to calm himself—the thought of what was to come, what all this meant was putting him on the road to another panic attack; the fact that he’d managed to get that out in a semi-coherent and partially-articulate manner was an accomplishment in itself that left him winded.

Danny was almost shaking with the effort. Steve noticed.

“Danny, you’re shaking,” Steve warned, willing his partner to stay calm (and out of danger).

“Yeah, well, kinda dealing with a lot right now.” Danny tried to take another deep breath. He removed his hand from Steve’s grasp, catching the larger man’s expression, but, for once, couldn’t categorize it; again, in his defense, a lot on his mind at the moment. “Go on, what? What is it? I mean, specifically, I obviously know that the overall picture here is giving you some pause.”

It was true that Steve was still trying to digest the overall scenario—and that there were several pieces of information he was still missing to really allow that to even possibly happen—but he took the opening Danny gave him to ask the question that was, actually, in that instant, foremost on his mind: “You changed. Clothes, I mean. Why’d you leave the nail polish?”

Danny was a little surprised at the question, though he supposed he shouldn’t have been. He nodded toward the living room, at one of several bins of Grace’s things. “Nail polish remover is over there, for when Grace is here. I didn’t have any in the bathroom.”

“Ah,” Steve nodded, reaching again for Danny’s hand. Danny let him take it, unsure of where this was going. Steve lifted his hand, seemingly closely inspecting it. After several moments, just as Danny was about to yell “What the hell are you doing?!”, Steve said, “You did a nice job. Like, really nice. It’s so… precise.”

“Huh?” Danny gaped at him, undeniably at a loss for words.

Steve looked up, met him in the eye. “You did. Nice job. Just out of curiosity, did you learn to do that before Grace or because of Grace?”

Danny, still on uncertain ground, answered. “I grew up with two sisters—I learned _way_ before Grace. Though, doing it on yourself takes a lot of practice, because you can’t use your dominant hand for every finger.” He surprised himself with the fluidity and completeness of his answer; it was like his body was on autopilot, responding to Steve’s question because he was _Steve_ and Danny answered Steve because Danny always answered Steve because Danny and Steve were friends and that’s the way it was. Thus, he found himself letting slip a detail he may not have otherwise—and which, of course, Steve immediately picked up on.

“A lot of practice? I can imagine. So, you do this often then? Your own nails?”

Danny turned red, but didn’t answer.

“Ok, you don’t have to tell me. I’m just wondering, you know, how long this has been a thing. How often you do this. When did you first want to, uh, dress up in women’s clothing?”

“It’s not—“ Danny stopped, unsure if it was even worth the discussion.

Steve looked genuine though, in his questions. He hadn’t once, so far, actually belittled Danny.

“It’s not what?” he asked.

Danny cleared his throat, and finally, looked Steve in the eye—like he always had before. “It’s not women’s clothing.” (At which, Steve, understandably, seemed quite confused.) Danny continued: “It’s _my_ clothing.”

And, after a moment, it seemed to click. Danny could see it on his face—the unfurrowing of the brow, the raising of the eyebrows, that oh-so-Steve ‘the light just turned on’ face.

“Ok, so, your clothes, these, uh, secret clothes—how long has that been a thing? How long, that is, I guess I mean to say, have you been wearing, or wanted to wear, wo--, dresses and… whatever else?”

Danny shrugged. “Long time. Long as I can remember, probably. I mean, my sisters liked dressing me up as a kid—not that I’m blaming them-- not that, really, there’s anything deserving blame,” he added, a touch of defiance in his voice, “—and, uh, you know, I passed the age where that was ok, but I didn’t… well, I mean, I had to, but I didn’t really want to not. So eventually, I found myself in a position where I could dress…this way. Not all the time, obviously. But when I can…”

Steve nodded, appreciating Danny’s openness. “Ok. So, how often do you do this?”

Danny narrowed his eyes, not liking the phrasing of the question. Steve may not have meant it to, but it still made Danny feel like he was committing some deviant act, condemnable by ‘proper’ people.

Steve recognized Danny’s change in disposition and quickly put his hands up. “I didn’t mean anything by the question. You don’t have to answer. I’m, uh, sorry I ruined your day. If this is a rare thing, an’ all, is all I was getting at.”

Danny’s shoulders relaxed a millimeter. “It is; pretty rare. It’s not often we get official days off, and even then I’m often with Grace, you know. Which I love! So, I’m not complaining, obviously.”

“Plus, you get to do girly things with her, so that’s good, right?” Steve tried to be helpful.

“It’s not, it’s… never mind, you don’t get it,” Danny shook his head, dejected. “It doesn’t matter; I wouldn’t expect you too. Doesn’t matter anyway. Really, I should be happy you didn’t haul off and punch me or parade me around the station like some twisted pervert---“

“How could you say that? Is that what you think of me?” Steve asked, deeply hurt at the suggestion. “Danny, you’re my best friend, how could I ever--?”

Danny just stared at him.

“Wow, ok, well, look. I’m sitting here, trying to talk to you about this, ok? I didn’t run away. I didn’t phone everyone I know. I didn’t ask for your resignation—and I _won’t_ by the way—be asking _or_ accepting—ever, for the record. So don’t even try it.”

Danny remained guardedly incredulous.

“Look, does it bother me--” (Danny tensed; Steve noticed and pushed on) “that my best friend apparently not only felt the need to keep something like this—something clearly important to him-- from me for three years—and probably forever if I hadn’t crashed his Saturday off—but further thought that if I found out I’d be an all-time _ass_ about it? Does it hurt that you think that little of me? Yeah. But I _get_ that this is a big thing, that it’d be a source of understandable concern for you, so I’m gonna cut you some slack there, because it’s clearly been a rotten day for you. But it doesn’t have to be. We’re still friends. We could hang out—you could tell me stuff; you don’t have to be all alone.”

Danny opened his mouth, and closed it.

“Seriously, this is a record-setting day. That’s at least the third time you’ve been at a loss for words,” Steve jibed.

Danny smiled ruefully.

“Why don’t we start here—you said I didn’t understand. What don’t I understand?”

Danny sighed. “What do you want to know, Steven? I mean, what’s the end-game for you, here?” Danny held up his hand to stop Steve from jumping in. “I’m not trying to sound cold, ok? But you’ve just blundered into a very, _very_ private part of my life, a part that makes me very vulnerable to a lot of people, were they to find out, so I need to know what you’re asking of me here, and why you’re asking.”

Steve nodded, getting the gist of the position Danny found himself in.

“How long have we been friends?”

Danny looked at him, skeptical. “You just said—three years.”

“Right, and do you remember at the very beginning of that—back when you still hated _everything_ about me—“

“I didn’t hate—“

This time, Steve held up _his_ hand to cut _Danny_ off. “No, let me finish. You were still fairly new to the island, had a job at HPD, but not a lot of friends, hadn’t really settled in, still couldn’t speak to Rachel without wanting to kill her. You were miserable. And then we met, and you hated me too. But by the end of that first case, we weren’t so bad, you and me, right? Especially for having started our relationship with a drawn gun and a punch to the face.” Steve smiled. “But, anyway, the point was, I meant what I said these few years and many cases ago—back when I still barely knew you, but I knew enough, ok, I knew enough to know that you were a good guy, that there was something about you that I liked.”

“What are you talking about, Steven?”

“I told you that maybe you weren’t as alone on this island as you thought.” Danny nodded, remembering.

Much to Steve’s dismay, only silence followed his effusive (for him) spiel.

“Ok,” he said, starting again, “let’s try this again, with a different starting question this time:” Danny looked up from where he’d been staring at his hands, “do you want to be alone?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, today. Were you looking forward to having the entire day off all to yourself?”

“Well, obviously I—“

“No, I mean, not the wardrobe-related solitude. I mean, if you could have dressed however you wanted, _but also had company_ , would you have wanted it? Or would you really prefer to have the day to yourself?”

Danny furrowed his eyebrows, looking at Steve dubiously.

Steve sighed. “Jesus, Danny, it’s not a trick question. If I had shown up here and you were in jeans and a t-shirt, would you have been happy to see me, or disappointed that I’d come? Don’t worry about hurting my feelings—I get it if you really need some time away from Five-0, or even just me in particular; we’ve been working non-stop, we see a lot of each other.”

“And yet _you_ came over on your day off,” Danny observed.

“Yes,” Steve started to look away, at the suddenly interesting table, but then forced himself to look Danny squarely in the eye, “because I wanted to. Because I wanted to spend my day off with you.”

Danny shouldn’t have looked surprised—they were, after all, friends and had hung out of their own volition on many occasions. But still, such an open declaration from Mr. Military was noteworthy.

Steve noticed Danny’s expression, and read it as enduring disbelief. “G’d Danny, how much of my heart am I gonna have to spill out here today? Is it really that much of a surprise that I enjoy being around you? I mean, how many nights have we finished with a case of beer on the lainai or in front of the TV?”

Danny looked… _bashful??_ “But, you could have spent it on the base with your military buddies… and instead you come over here to find me in, in a dress.” It was like Danny’s eyes were _glued_ to the floor.

“Look, Danno, I’m not sure you really appreciate what I’m telling you here. But I kinda already thought you knew, a little, at least. I mean, before you, I spent all my days off alone—or in bed with some one-night stand. You are my _best friend._ I haven’t had someone like you in my life since I was a kid.”

“You’ve had Chin. And Catherine.”

“Chin’s different,” Steve waved off dismissively, “and you know it.” (Danny nodded; it was true, Chin was different; he was his father’s colleague and a zen-master.) “And Catherine’s… complicated. I mean, really—“ Steve added, as an afterthought, “I didn’t call _her_ today.”

Danny huffed. “You didn’t call me, either. If you had, we certainly wouldn’t be having _this_ conversation.”

“Well, you know what? I’m glad I didn’t call, ok? I’m sorry that I found out about this this way, that it wasn’t your choice to tell me about this part of your life. But I’m glad I know, ok?” Danny, again, looked at him disbelievingly. “I _am._ Because this is obviously important to you and a part of who you are, and as my best friend… well, I just thought we had a closer friendship than—well, I mean, I’d like to have the kind of friendship… I’d like to… be included,” Steve finished, struggling to find the right sentiment.

“Included?” Danny asked. “You want me to find you an evening gown?” he chuckled.

Steve took it as a good sign that Danny was cracking jokes. But he knew he was on unsteady ground—Danny could clam up or push him away at the slightest wrong move.

“Well, we could talk about it. I think I’d rather know more about why you find it appealing, what you get out of it. More about _you._ ”

“More about me…” Danny sighed, like he was facing an insurmountable obstacle.

“Well, I thought I knew you pretty well. I mean, you never stop talking, do you?” Steve jibed. “But, I suppose, there’s a lot you really don’t say.” Danny gave him a look. “No, not just this. But like, Grace’s namesake, or 9/11—I had no idea, and I never even thought to ask.”

“Well, there’s a lot I don’t know about you, too.”

“You know me better than almost anyone—even my own mother, at this point.”

“Probably not Chin.”

“Well, to be honest, Chin probably knows me better than I know myself. I think he’s like that for everyone,” Steve joshed.

“Still, there’s a lot about you that you never say.”

“Ok, so, maybe today is a ‘getting to know you day’?” Steve proposed. “If you want. Or I could go. You never did answer my question about wanting to be alone today or not.” Steve looked closely at Danny, suddenly worried he really would be kicked out, and he honestly didn’t know what would happen if he left now, if things would ever be ‘normal’ between them, especially at work on Monday.

“No,” Danny finally said, as if he were admitting to some inconceivable act.

“No, what?”

“No, if it weren’t for… I like your company too. I’m usually, _begrudgingly_ , happy to see you, even when you show up unannounced.” He gave Steve a wry look. “I _was_ looking forward to today. But I wouldn’t particularly have wanted to be alone, if I didn’t have to be.”

“You don’t have to be,” Steve said, taking his hand.

Danny was quiet for a time, letting that soak in.


	4. Chapter 4

“So, what do you want to do?” Steve asked.

Danny shrugged. “Dunno. My plans for the day have recently changed.”

“Well, they don’t have to. You can go change.”

Danny looked up surprised, and his cheeks colored slightly as he seemed to briefly consider the thought. “No, I don’t think so. I’d be too self-conscious.” He looked back down at his hands, which were worrying themselves. “In fact, I should take off this nail polish.”

“No, please don’t,” Steve said. “I get that you don’t want to wear your full… ensemble. But leave the polish. Think of it as a… a first step.”

Danny looked at him quizzically. “A first step towards what?”

“Towards you being able to be yourself around me.”

Danny still looked doubtful. “Part of our getting to know you day?” Steve nodded, hopeful. Danny considered, but shook his head. “No, it’s just, too weird. I’m just supposed to sit here with nail polish on and what, drink a beer and watch the game?”

“Well, is that what you were gonna do if I hadn’t shown up?”

Danny laughed a little. “Actually, yes, ultimately. I was going to do some reading, and then yeah, this afternoon there’s a ball game on—Yanks are playing.”

“Ok, so, then we do that. You got beer for the game? If not, you can finish reading while I go get some.”

“No, I have some—I can’t go out on days like today. It’s about recharging, it’s something I need, to let down, be me, but it’s also isolating; I can’t leave, I don’t have anyone over, obviously. I don’t even order takeout. I was gonna make tofu stir-fry actually—I should have enough for two… if you want to stay for dinner, that is.”

“You’re going to cook? Healthy food? I like this aspect of Danno,” Steve said with a smile. “Of course I’ll stay for dinner, ‘goof’.”

“That’s my word!”

“Change is in the air today, Daniel, my friend.” Steve’s smile somehow got bigger.

“So, that’s the plan, then? We stay in, we watch the game, we cook?”

“Sounds good. And, we talk. Don’t forget. This is ‘getting to know you day’.”

Danny looked at Steve, really looked.

“What?”

“I just never thought I’d see the day when _you_ were insisting we talk about feelings. You sure you’re not the one who should be wearing nail polish instead of me?” Danny tried to joke, but Steve looked thoughtful.

“Would that make you feel better?”

“What?”

“If I wore nail polish, too.”

“You’d do that?” Danny was taken aback by the offer.

Steve shrugged.

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ll just take mine off.”

“Danny, you said this was about recharging; something you _needed_ ; about being _you_. I don’t want to stop that, get in the way of that. Even though I don’t completely understand it yet—and that’s only because you haven’t fully explained it yet!” Steve hastily added, “--it’s clear this matters. And this weekend was specifically designated as our days off so that we could get rest, _recharge_. Taking off the nail polish prevents you from doing that.”

“It’s not magic nail polish, Steven.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Right, ok, but like I said, it’s a first step. And maybe it recharges you just a little. And I can’t stare just at your hands if I’m also staring at my own, so come on! What color do I get? Let’s see what this is all about!” he clapped and rubbed his hands together. 

Danny couldn’t believe this man, this Navy SEAL ninja of a partner who was now up actively looking for nail polish—granted, in the wrong place.

“It’s not in there, it’s—I have a box, I left it in the bedroom.”

“Ok, well, go get it. Let’s get this started!”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes. Come on, I’m actually curious now, see what it feels like. Go on, get the paint.”

“Polish, Steven, polish,” Danny corrected—couldn’t help himself. Steve smiled and shooed Danny into the other room.

Danny returned with a small box of assorted colors. Now seated at the kitchen table, Steve opted for the purple. “Good choice; I almost went with that myself today, but I thought it was too dark for my dr—“

“For your dress. You can say it, Danno. I was here, remember?”

“Yes, but I must sound ridiculous to you.” Danny failed to meet Steve’s eyes yet again, but used shaking and opening the nail polish as an excuse. Steve wasn’t letting it pass; he reached over and took Danny’s jaw, angling his face to meet Steve’s eyes.

“You don’t sound ridiculous. I hear wo—people, I hear people say that, it’s all about, uh, accessorizing, right?”

Danny gave a small smile at Steve’s effort. “Yeah. Well, the jewelry and shoes and purses are accessories; nail polish isn’t really. But you’ve got the right idea.”

“So, will this color work for me?” Steve asked, and Danny was beside himself to note the tone of sincerity in Steve’s voice; he wasn’t making a joke of this.

“Um, yeah, actually, I think it will. You are _sure_ you want to do this?”

“If you ask me that one more time, Daniel, I’m going to have to assume you’ve suffered some memory loss and report you to Health and Safety. Now start painting.”

“First, go wash your hands.” Steve did. “Now, well…”

“Now, what?”

“Well, do you want the real deal, or do you just want me to paint your nails and move on?”

“What do you mean ‘real deal’?”

“I mean, I would never paint my nails without some basic prep—like cutting them and filing them.”

Steve considered this a moment. Then shrugged. “Give me the full treatment; let’s do it right.”

Danny’s eyebrows shot up, but he took Steve’s hand in his and began to give his SEAL-cop-partner a manicure.

Danny picked up a clear bottle.

“I thought we were doing purple? You’re not even going to be able to _see_ that stuff.”

“This is the base coat. I’m going to put it on so that that purple—a dark color—doesn’t stain your nails, and it’ll also be easier to take it off later.”

“Oh. Ok. I never realized this was so involved.”

“Do you want me to stop?” Danny froze.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I was just making an observation. Thank you for not letting my fingernails be stained purple.” Danny still hadn’t resumed. Steve nodded, signaling him to continue.

Finally, Danny lowered the brush to Steve’s nail.

As Danny worked, Steve observed him. He seemed, after the second nail, to relax a bit, focused on the task in front of him.

“You know, I never noticed what good shape your nails must actually be in,” he commented. Danny raised his eyebrows but didn’t look up from his work on Steve’s right pointer finger. “I mean, if you do this for yourself, your nails, even without the polish, must look great.”

“Well,” he muttered in reply, focused on a particularly troublesome cuticle, “I’m kind of glad you didn’t—it’d be hard to explain. Luckily, it’s the kind of thing most people don’t notice. Even detectives—assuming I’m not under investigation. I suppose I could always say I let Grace do it.”

“You are so lucky you had a daughter, man.”

“I’m so lucky I had _her._ ”

“True. She _is_ a great kid.”

“Plus, when I’m around you, there’s usually bullets flying and dirt or blood everywhere, so my nails are actually quite dirty.”

“Fair point.”

“Ok, you’re ready for some polish,” Danny informed Steve as he picked up the tiny brush.

It felt odd, at first, and Danny snapped at him to hold still and not let his fingers touch anything after he’d finished the first few and set them down. “Not even each other, Steven! You’ll smush the paint!”

“Sorry! Sorry! Jeeze.” But Steve obeyed, and even blew on his fingers and fanned his hands at the end.

“So, what do you think?” Danny inquired.

“Actually,” Steve said, holding his hands out to look at them properly. “Not bad. I think it’s a good color, no?”

Danny smiled. “Yeah.”

“And, it feels a little weird, but, better now that it’s mostly dry.”

“It’s quick-drying, but give it another 5 minutes before you touch anything.”

“Got it.” Steve gave a single, affirmative nod.

“Now what?”


	5. Chapter 5

They ended up in familiar territory: on the couch, game on the tv, beers in hand.

“So, did you ever think about telling me?” Steve asked, as they waited for the mid-inning change-over.

Danny turned to look at him, eyebrows raised, taking a long pull on his beer. He shrugged.

“That’s not an answer, Danno,” Steve chastised.

“Depends what you mean by ‘think’. I imagine a lot of things, Steve. But did I ever seriously consider doing it? No.”

Steve nodded. “Guess I understand. But, you never thought you’d _ever_ be able to?”

Danny just shrugged again.

“Ok, well, when you imagined telling me, how’d it go?”

Danny sounded hesitant. “Uh, well, there were a few different scenarios…”

Steve raised his eyebrows and nodded eagerly, urging Danny on.

“In, uh, in my favorite, you’re happy, for some reason, and treat it as a good thing, not even just normal, but, like, a bonus somehow. And then there’s the one where you’re totally unphased, and it’s completely normal, and it’s all good. That’s really the best I could realistically hope for, but it’s still pretty unrealistic, because, I realize, obviously, that this isn’t considered normal. And then, of course, are the more prevalent and more likely scenarios where you freak out, run away, cut me out of your life, ostracize me, out me, punch me…” Danny broke eye contact and reached for his beer with a trembling hand.

Steve cleared his throat. “Well, how do you think it’s going so far?” He nudged Danny with his shoulder, playfully.

Danny quirked a small smile. “I’m still in a bit of disbelief,” he replied honestly. His gaze slipped to Steve’s fingers. “I have to admit, I never saw that coming,” tapping Steve’s fingers with the beer bottle to make his meaning clear. “I, uh, I appreciate the effort you’re putting in. I know it’s probably not easy for you.”

“Danny, let’s be clear here, this isn’t some hardship you’re putting me through. I’m here because I want to be here.”

Danny nodded once and shrugged, looking unconvinced by Steve’s words, turning his attention back to the game. The Yankees were up, 3-2, but the inning was looking like a bust—two outs and no one on.

The batter stuck out. Danny cursed. The teams changed positions.

“Why did you think I’d beat you up?” Steve asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Danny looked surprised, then guarded; Steve could see his defenses rising. There was a bitterness to his voice that Steve had never heard before when he muttered, “That’s what people do to _freaks_ , isn’t it?” Danny’s knuckles were white against the brown beer bottle; his jaw was set; his eyes never reached Steve’s.

“I don’t think you’re a freak, Danny,” Steve offered, softly but sincerely.

“How could you not?” Danny bit. “I’m sitting here in nail polish!”

“So am I,” Steve reminded him.

That brought Danny up short. Whatever head-space he’d been in while answering Steve’s question, he was suddenly pushed out.

“Yeah… you are,” he seemed to remember. “But not of your own accord,” he pointed out.

“What do you mean? I asked you to do it.”

“Well, yeah, but, it wasn’t what you wanted.” Steve raised his eyebrows. “Come on, you know what I mean. You didn’t just sit down one day and say, ‘Gee, I’d really fancy some nail polish.’ You did it for me.”

Steve didn’t reply, and Danny turned his attention back to the game once more. Another inning passed. It was the top of the fifth. Still 3-2.

“Did you ever tell anyone else?” Steve asked, after another minutes-long pause.

“No.” Danny’s eyes stayed glued to the TV. He was leaning forward on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, beer in hand.

“… Did anyone else ever find out?”

Danny closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“What happened?”

His eyes opened again. “I wasn’t careful enough.”

“Who found out?”

“Some strangers. At the motel I was staying at, after Rachel and I split.”

“How?”

“I stepped outside my room for some ice. It was stupid. But my knee was hurting, and it looked like the coast was clear.” He shook his head. “So stupid.”

“What happened?”

Danny drew in a shaky breath, before continuing. “Three military guys on leave came down the hall, rowdy. Been drinking, don’t think they were actually drunk though. They saw me.” He swallowed thickly, closed his eyes once more.

Steve lay a hand on his back, rubbing up and down his spine. “What happened next?”

Danny shuddered. Then opened his eyes and glared at Steve. Steve’s hand stilled. “What do you think happened!? We all had a lovely chat, and I invited them over for tea where we shared our deepest feelings and became best friends!” Steve thought he could _feel_ the acid in Danny’s voice, and it burned.

“They beat you?”

Danny seemed to shrink in on himself. “They beat the shit out of me,” he whispered. “I didn’t stand a chance—there were three of them.” He took a shaky breath, trying to collect himself. “Ok, so maybe if I had been you, Mr. Super-SEAL, I would’ve taken all three down with barely a scratch, but I’m just a cross-dressing copper, so—“

“Danny! Jesus, how many times do I have to say this. I am _not judging you_. You do not have to defend yourself or your actions to me. I don’t think you’re weak—I’ve _never_ thought you were weak. And it’s ok to be vulnerable.” Danny shot him a look that screamed ‘hypocrite’. “Yeah, ok, so I’m not that good at it, but it doesn’t mean I can’t be around people who are—and it doesn’t mean I’ve never felt that way, even if I don’t say it. And, Christ, I mean, you got taken down by three trained assholes—that is not something to be apologizing for. _They_ were in the wrong, not you.”

“I know they were wrong, Steven. But that I was in that situation at all was _my_ fault.”

“How many times have you told victims not to blame themselves? Danny, we should live in a country where you can wear whatever you like and leave your house and not worry for your safety. Where woman can walk alone at night and not worry about being attacked. Where—“

“I’m not a woman, Steven.”

“Danny, I am well aware of this fact. That was not the point of that sentence, and you know it. And yet, I have to say, the fact that you keep reminding me that you are not a woman is starting to come off as if you think there’s something wrong with being a woman.”

“What?”

“Well, would you feel the need to point out that you’re not, like, a genius or, um, a tennis player, all the time?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“What I’m saying is, that in this society, being a woman is seen as being less than a man. That’s why it’s not ok for you to dress up as a girl, but it’s perfectly fine for women to wear more masculine attire—Rachel can wear pants, but you can’t wear a dress. It’s because, for men, it’s trading down. The whole thing is a power-dynamic, social-construct, unjust _cage_. And it’s shit.”

Danny stared at him, mouth agape. “When the hell did you get so damn enlightened?”

“I may have dated this girl once; she may have pointed out some things I hadn’t really considered before.”

“Well, I guess I was wrong.”

Steve resisted the urge to ask to record that admission for all time—it seemed likely to halt their conversational progress. Instead, he went with, “About what?”

“You actually _do_ get it… and I agree with you. I just thought, well, I never expected you to see things that way… so I felt I needed to point out that I _am_ a man… How the hell have you never voiced any of these positions in the three years I’ve known you?”

Steve shrugged. “It never came up. Besides, you’re raising a great kid, but let’s face it, Grace still fits all the female stereotypes—she loves princesses and pink and clothes, and you always seemed to think that was just fine and wanted to keep her as far away from boys—and thus, ‘boy-things’—as possible. And you’re a ‘tough-guy Jersey cop’, manly-man. So I just figured I wouldn’t push the issue. I mean, like I said, there was no need to—it never directly came up.”

Danny seemed to consider his points and ultimately accept them.

“The guys who beat you up—how bad was it?”

Danny didn’t answer.

Steve nodded, the silence painting a clear enough picture.

“And I’m assuming they said some pretty nasty things while they were landing the blows?”

Danny shrugged. “Fortunately, I only heard some of them, as I passed out sometime during it all.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, fists clenching in an attempt to keep his anger at the new knowledge—knowledge of this whole episode—under control. “And they were military.”

Danny nodded again.

“Makes sense now.”

“What does?”

“Why you thought I’d react the same way. Military.”

Danny shrugged. “Not known to be a particularly socially-enlightened organization.”

Steve conceded the point.

“Though, congrats on getting the races mixed, the women in, and DADT repealed.” Danny raised his bottle in a semi-sincere acknowledgement that things had been and could be worse.

“Was that the only time?”

“The only time, what?”

“That you got beat up. Or found out.”

“Found out—yeah. Not counting, of course, all the times my sisters paraded me in front of my parents, but that was different—I was little, they dressed me up… Beat up? No. But most kids get into fights when they’re little, and locker room brawls when they’re older. And it was always made very clear that being weak, that being a ‘fag’ was _not_ ok.”

Steve flinched at the derogatory term, but Danny didn’t notice, working on opening his second beer. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“A f--… gay.” Steve’s pulse quickened in anticipation, having voiced a question he’d never thought he’d be able to pose to the other man. Then again, he’d never expected anything that’d happened today.

Danny looked up, eyes narrowed. “Not all cross-dressers are gay, Steven,” Danny stated firmly.

“Right,” Steve nodded, once. He realized that wasn’t actually an answer, but figured he’d let it go. Danny had shared a lot today. Maybe he’d get an answer some other time.

Another several minutes went by in silence. They were heading into the seventh inning stretch.

“You know, I think Grace is a great kid, right? And you’re an excellent father. And none of what I said earlier was meant as an insult to you or her.”

Danny looked at him in surprise for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. “Yeah, of course I do.”

“Ok, good.” Steve nodded and took another pull.

“You’re practically her second father. Or, third, I guess, ‘cause—Stan.”

Steve almost choked on his beer, coughing through the end of the swallow.  “What?”

“Well, come on, Steve. You’re with us most of the time—“

“Danny, I’m sorry, I never meant to intrude on—“

“and she adores you. And you are great with her. I see you with her—you love her like she’s your own kid.” Danny paused to take another sip. “That’s why I was so pissed at you about the bomb that day.”

Steve, already at a loss for words, was now confused in addition to all the other emotions swirling through him. How did people handle feeling so many things at once? He felt paralyzed and in danger of exploding by the swelling in his chest. All he managed was an inarticulate, “Huh?”

“When you wouldn’t leave. Part of me was grateful, of course, you were a rock, I’m not sure I could’ve held it together without you there. But, I needed you to take care of Grace… if I didn’t make it. Tell her I loved her, look after her if I couldn’t. There’s no one I’d trust more to do that than you.”

Steve cleared his throat, trying to blink back tears.

Danny looked over at him. “Whoa, you ok? Look, if that’s too much responsibility or something, I can take it back—“

“No! No, that’s not—I’m honored, Danny.” Steve choked out. “Of course I’d look after Grace.”

“Well, it’s just, I guess I shouldn’t have assumed—I mean, you’ve never mentioned wanting to have kids, so maybe you wouldn’t want—“

“I love Grace, Danny. She’s a great kid, and she’s _yours_. She’s probably the closest thing I’d ever have to a daughter—“

“So, you don’t want kids, then?”

“I, I dunno. I never thought I’d make a good father—look at the messed up family I come from. I mean, even more messed up now… I had a good childhood, yeah, but, then… And, for a long time, my job wasn’t one that would let me have much of a stable ‘home-life’. And…”

“First off, you’d make a great father—just look at you with Grace. You just need to keep the weapons out of reach. Second, yeah, your family’s… unique… but you’d always have your wife to keep you on track. Third, you’ve got Five-0 now. You’re staying, right? So you and Cath could—“

Steve shook his head. “Like I said, the thing with Cath—it’s…”

“I believe the word you used was ‘complicated’.” Steve nodded. “Care to elaborate on what that actually means?”

“It’s not a wife-and-kids thing. It’s not headed in that direction… or in any direction for that matter. We’re just friends.”

“With some pretty excellent benefits.”

Steve grinned. “Well, yeah.”

“And does she know this? Why is this? Because I gotta tell ya, buddy, she seems pretty great for you. She’s smart, hot, puts up with you—your schedule, your requests, your… ‘youness’.” (Danny gestured at all of him.)

“Should I be insulted?”

“Nah. Just saying, she’s a great catch. What’s the hang-up?”

Steve looked away. Yankees were up, 5-4. Top of the eighth. He shrugged. “I’m not in love with her.”

“Ah.”

“I should be. I know I should be. But…”

“Hey, you can’t force yourself to love someone. If it’s not it, it’s not it.” They waited in a little more silence, before Danny asked, “Is that what you want though? The wife-and-kids deal, eventually? Now that you’re not gallivanting all across the globe any more. Well—at least not on a regular basis?” (Danny glared at him, remembering North Korea and Japan.)

“I think, if I found the right person… I’d just really like…” Steve trailed off.

“You’d really like…? Come on now, Steve. This is our ‘sharing day’ remember? You caught me in a dress; I think asking about your basic future plans is a pretty favorable trade, don’t you?”

Steve sighed, he wasn’t good at this open-book stuff; he played his cards close to the chest for a reason. “I’d really like someone to come home to. To be there, by… by my side. To love me.”

“See, was that so hard?” Danny teased, nudging him with his shoulder.

“It just… it sounds so pathetic.” Steve shook his head at himself.

“No it doesn’t. It sounds like what almost everyone wants.”

“But who would want me? I have more issues than—“

“Might I remind you of that girl we were just discussing?”

“You’re right, but I just don’t feel—“

“I’m not saying you’ve got to marry _her_ , Steve. I’m saying, she’s willing to be with you. So, logic dictates that there would be others who would also find you a desirable prospect.”

“Prospects aren’t the problem. I have no trouble getting _laid_.”

“Cocky bastard,” Danny griped.

“It’s the long-term that’s the problem.”

“Well, that’s probably because you don’t make them a priority or open up. Did you get the ‘emotional availability spiel’?”

Steve smiled ruefully. “I’d ask ‘how did you know?’, but I take it that’s kind of obvious.”

Danny smiled. “Look, you’ve got me. I’ve stuck around for three years. And Chin, and Kono. And, again, Catherine.”

“Catherine is on-again-off-again, long-distance, complicated… you and Chin and Kono are all paid to be around.”

“Steve, if we didn’t like you, you’d see a significantly higher turn-over rate; our jobs aren’t exactly cushy and stress-free. Also, we would only be around you during working hours. And, as you pointed out, we spend most of our off-hours already together. Though—right there may be your problem. You should be spending less time with me and more time on the dating scene.”

Steve shook his head.

“No?”

“No place I’d rather be, Danno.”

“See, that might be a problem with the whole ‘getting a wife’ thing.”

“What if I don’t want a wife?”

“Steve, I thought we just spent the last 10minutes—“

“What if I wanted… what if I wanted a husband?” Steve’s stomach felt like it had hit the floor with that admission. And the seconds that ticked by, waiting for Danny to respond seemed like an eternity. He stared at the wall ahead of him, afraid of the expression on Danny’s face, oblivious to what the Yankees were doing, until he finally glanced over at Danny.

“You’re gay?”

“Um, I think, more like bi…”

Danny nodded.

“Is that ok?”

Danny’s eyes widened. “Is that—is that ok? Steve, might I remind you how this day started?”

“Well, yeah, but just because you were wearing gender-non-conforming clothes—“

“What are you, a college student now?”

“—doesn’t mean you’re ok with alternative sexual orientations.” Steve ignored the comment. (He really had been listening to that old girlfriend, those years ago.)

“Well, I am, ok. Yes, of course it’s ok… Anyone you’ve got your eye on?”

“Like you said, I don’t get out much,” Steve deflected.

“Right.”

“This isn’t something I advertise.”

“Understood.”

“Not that I don’t trust Chin and Kono. It just doesn’t seem like something to bring up, unless there’s really a reason.” Danny nodded. “And, you know, the military, yeah, they repealed DADT, but it’s still—“

“I’ve been on base with you before. I heard more than enough insults in a single hour; I can’t imagine what a lifetime would be like. Talk about ‘women being inferior to men’, if I heard ‘hurry up you ladies!’ used as a motivational insult one more time—“

Steve chuckled, releasing some of the nervous energy. “I know, I know.”

“So, today was a day of ‘getting to know you’, ‘feelings’, and secrets. Got it. Big day for a day off, wouldn’t you say?”

Steve nodded and laughed. The Yankees hit a grand slam. “Want me to start dinner while you watch the end of the game?”

“Oh, you, Steven McGarrett are going to make some man a very happy husband some day.”

Steve laughed, caught off-guard by the comment. It was nice—having someone share his secret. He only hoped Danny felt—or, in time, could feel—that same comfort in his own skin in front of someone who cared about him. Not that Steve was a poster-child for well-adjusted, and Danny’d only found out about his ‘secret’ 5 minutes ago, but… just being able to bandy that comment, that felt… nice, freeing. Something he could definitely get used to.


	6. Chapter 6

The weekend ended too soon; Steve had spent Sunday on his own, giving Danny the space he still clearly needed to fully “let his hair down”. He did call to offer to bring Danny anything he needed—and Danny took him up on the offer of delivered beer, as he had not procured enough to cushion for Steve’s unexpected arrival on Saturday. When Steve arrived, however, Danny requested that he let himself in, leave the beer, and be on his way. They exchanged a few pleasantries through the bedroom door, but Steve understood (this time), trying not to take offence and simply give Danny the time and space he needed. Steve had made clear that he was more than willing to be there for Danny, and felt sure that the other man would eventually feel comfortable being his full self in front of Steve. (Not that that made a Danny-less Sunday easier.)

                     

The week that followed wasn’t as high-intensity as the one before. To be honest, Steve found it a little dull. Still, all four team members were ready for some leisure time by the time the weekend rolled around. Friday night beers at the local sea-side dive bar seemed in order. It was well past midnight when they slowly parted ways, each heading to long-awaiting beds.

 

Saturday morning rolled around as, as usual, Steve was up bright and early for his swim. Finishing his workout and his protein shake, he washed up and grabbed his keys; he knew for a fact that Gracie was still at sleep-away camp, which meant Danny should be unengaged.

Sure enough, when he arrived at Danny’s hovel, his knock on the door was answered with a string of profanity—something that would _never_ escape his mouth in Grace’s presence.

“And good morning to you too, Mr. Sunshine,” Steve commented, brushing past a particularly disheveled and put-out looking partner.

Danny grunted and slammed the door behind Steve.

“The fact that it’s morning is precisely the problem, you Navy freak.”

“Navy? You got it right, Danno!”

Grunting again, Danny mumbled something to the tune of, “Too early for my usual wit,” and grabbed for the coffee that Steve was holding tauntingly just out of reach.

“Ah, Danno, manners. What do we say?”

“Gimme the damn coffee or get the hell outta my house you sleep-disturbing cretin?”

Steve smiled. “Close enough, but we’ll have to work on that,” he chuckled, handing the cup over to his friend.

Danny moaned into the steaming beverage. “Hazelnut, my favorite,” he sighed after downing what seemed like half the contents. He offered Steve a still-sleepy, but much less annoyed, smile through heavy lids. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s Saturday, and Grace is away. I’m here to hang out.”

“Steven, hanging out is something people also do in the afternoon, or evenings even. In fact, as a I recall, we did such a thing last night, until about midnight. Hence why one might expect being able to enjoy a morning in.”

“What, and waste a perfectly good day? The sun is shining—“ Steve turned to gesture to the window, which featured a sky that had suddenly grown overcast. “Or… it was.” Thunder cracked loudly. It started to pour in sheets.

“You were saying?” Danny snarked.

“Well, see, it’s just good I was up to enjoy it while it lasted!”

“Right, ‘cause in Hawaii, I may never see the sun again is what you’re saying? Meanwhile, this looks like perfectly good stay-in-bed weather to me.” But Danny’s eyes were fully awake now, and Steve could see their sparkle.

“Well, I’m not going out in that, so it looks like you’ve got a roommate for the day. What shall we do?”

Danny huffed. “Well, Mr. Morning. You can do as you please, but I need to shower. I think there’s eggs in the fridge if you’re hungry.” And with that, he trudged off to the bathroom. Steve could hear the water start up as he turned to the pathetic kitchen. Well, might as well make himself useful…

Steve was just finishing his deep-scrub of the countertops when Danny emerged 20minutes later.

“What are you doing? Are you cleaning my kitchen?” Danny incredulously half-shouted as he re-entered the room.

Steve shrugged, throwing the sponge back in the sink. “You said I could do as a I pleased.”

“You… there are no words for what you are, you OCD-army-goof,” he endeared. “Should I take this as an insult to my housekeeping?”

“Have you ever been insulted by someone’s opinion of your housekeeping? Is this a point of misplaced pride?”

“Touché.”

“Ok, well, if you’re finished being Mr. Clean—“

“What do you want to do? You need breakfast?”

“I have no idea. And no, I’m fine.”

“Well, what were you planning to do before I showed up? And you should eat something, get your metabolism started.”

“Sleeping, I thought I made that clear. And did you just call me fat?”

Steve burst out laughing. “No, no I did not. But I’m going to make you some eggs—how do you like them?”

“Like you don’t already know the answer to that question.” Both men missed the fact that the other blushed at the inference, as both studiously avoided eye contact.

Steve reached in the fridge and grabbed two eggs. “Sunny-side up it is. And you couldn’t have been planning to sleep all day. What did you have in mind for after you finally rolled out of bed?”

Danny shrugged. “I didn’t really. I was exhausted last night, crashed as soon as I walked in that door. Unlike you, I don’t plan every second of every day. Though, I guess if you did that, you’d have had an idea of what to do once you invaded my apartment.”

It was Steve’s turn to shrug. “I didn’t _invade_. This isn’t a hostile occupation. I can leave anytime you like.” Steve gazed mournfully at the continuing downpour.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Then what would I do, needle _myself_ all day?” Danny asked with a grin.

Steve smiled back. “Besides, I didn’t know if this was a personal day or not. I didn’t want to make grand plans and you know… act like the Neanderthal you always accuse me of being and manhandle you into something you didn’t want to do. Or whatever.”

Danny looked shocked. “Wow, that was… genuinely considerate of you. In a really self-enlightened sort of way. I mean, everyone knows you’ve got a big heart, but that explanation showed a lot of critical reflection. And on a Saturday _morning_ no less.”

“Everyone knows I’ve got a big heart?” Steve asked incredulously, raising his eyebrows and glancing over his shoulder before returning his gaze to the skillet where he tested the eggs to see if they were done. (Almost—maybe another minute, max.)

“Of course. Anyone who’s ever met you, babe. One look at those big brown eyes is all they need.” The truth of the statement was partially subsumed in Danny’s amicably-mocking tone.

“Oh really? So I’m just a big push-over? Should I be worried about my reputation here?” Steve inquired, half-concerned, half-joking.

“Don’t be silly,” Danny laughed. “You’re still the SEAL-trained lunatic who carries grenades in his cargo pockets. But you’re always in it for the right reasons, looking out for the little guy, making sure the fatherless child doesn’t get forgotten, showing up when your teammates need you—buying tickets to swim with the dolphins for a little girl and her Hawaii-hating father.” Danny offered a sideways grin. Steve reciprocated.

“Ok, fair enough. And here, eat up,” Steve slid the eggs onto a plate and the plate across the table to where Danny had just plopped into a seat.

“Thanks,” he said, grabbing a fork and shoveling in a mouthful.

“So, plans? Today? Ideas?”

“Not really,” Danny mumbled over his egg-filled mouth.

“Sports?”

Danny shrugged. “You’ll have to check the listings. I do, at least, believe we have beer.”

“Ah, well, then I’m sure we’ll survive.”

Steve flipped through the TV guide. “Looks like nothing but golf is on until 3, then there’s St. Louis v. the Rays.”

Danny shrugged, finishing off his eggs with one last monstrous bite.

Steve sat back down at the table.

“So, friend… now what? I think I have a deck of cards around… and I know there’s a fair number of Disney movies over there. Oh! Or we could rent something On Demand—maybe there’s something good on there.”

Steve looked lost in thought.

“Steve? Any of that of interest? Steve!”

“Yeah, sure, it all sounds fine. I was just thinking…”

“Thinking what?”

“Well, seeing as how we’re stuck inside anyway—“

“Yeah…”

“—you could teach me something else. Like last time. I mean, last time was nails, right. Or maybe I should paint yours this time? Since really I was just sitting there for that. Or… what else is there? Hair? Or jewelry?”

Danny appeared deeply puzzled and caught off-guard. “You really want that? Because, it’s not necessary, Steve. I wasn’t planning on anything special today, like I told you—“

“Yeah, but, I mean, do you not _want_ to? Because we’re bound to be indoors anyway. Why wait till a ‘special occasion’—which, generally, seemed to me, last time, to mean when you were particularly stressed out. Can’t you enjoy doing that when you’re just at your, you know, usual stress-level? Besides, I’d like to learn. If you don’t mind.”

Danny squinted at him, seemingly attempting to reach a decision. Steve _did_ raise some valid points…

“I mean, I guess you never fully explained what all this means to you, so... maybe I’ve got it wrong…”

Danny studied his partner; he seemed unsure—a rare look on him—and yet, earnest.

“Well, if you really want… You’re right, I never did fully explain. Truth is, I wasn’t sure where to start, or… what you wanted to know. And it was all so… adrenalized last time… But, basically, I mean, wearing a dress isn’t a magic stress-reliever,” he chuckled, “Just look at half the women wearing dresses—they still seem pretty stressed out, too.” They both smiled. “But, it helps me, I think because it’s a way to let my hair down—I guest, _literally_.” Steve chuckled at that; he was happy to see Danny relaxing and letting him in to this part of himself. “It’s like, I mean, I don’t hate my customary attire, right? My shirts, my pants, even, as much as they drive you nuts, my ties.  But I _also_ like dressing up and feeling made-up, feeling put-together and… you know—“

“Pretty?” Steve supplied.

“I was gonna say ‘nice’, but yeah, if I’m honest, ‘pretty’ is more accurate.” Danny admitted. “It’s like, when women get dressed up nice, or even men, to go out to a nice meal or date or dinner and a show or whatever; you feel special and it maybe even makes you act a little more proper or whatever… You know what I’m talking about, how clothes can actually affect your behavior or accentuate certain parts of your personality?” Steve nodded. “Like, even costumes or Halloween can do this—make you feel more badass or peppy or professional or whatever. But, I should be clear, this isn’t just a costume, this is _also_ a part of me—I’m not dying in my guy-clothes. I know there are people like that, who really feel like a woman all the time, like they’re trapped in the wrong body, but that’s not me—I feel like a guy… a guy who also likes wearing dresses and skirts and feeling ‘dolled-up’. So, both wardrobes are who I am… if you believe in that saying ‘The clothes make the man’,” Danny gave a small smile, having remembered an opportune saying like that.

“I think I understand,” Steve said, seeming to mull over what Danny had just explained. “It’s like, how you always rib me about wearing Cargo pants? But, it usually just feels _wrong_ to wear dress pants to work, because that’s not who I am, that’s not what I do.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda it…”

“But like, when I wore that tux for that gambling case we had—“

Danny whistled at the memory.

Steve grinned at the compliment, pushing on: “--I felt like a million bucks.”

“Trust me, Babe, you looked it.”

“And sometimes I _want_ to wear my dress uniform…” he trailed off.

“I think you’re getting it. Mostly. It’s just, basically, wearing more ‘feminine’ clothing, I feel like I can let that part of myself out a bit more—be a little less gruff, a little… softer?” Danny looked, once again, embarrassed by the admission. “I mean, I might still want to watch the Yankees game and drink beer, like last time, but I also might want to do something that makes me feel a little… uh… _daintier_.” Danny cringed, but, much to Steve’s relief, he continued.  “And as much as women complain about all the extra details and primping they have to do—and they do, and I don’t blame them for complaining, I wouldn’t want to do it every morning before work either—the detailed focus is kind of nice. And since I don’t get to dress that way all that often, it’s even kind of a treat. Though in an ideal world, it would just be however I’m feeling that day or whatever I happen to want to wear.” Danny shrugged.

“I think that makes sense. So… how are you feeling today? Do you not want to—“

“No, sure, we can. If you’re really that interested. I’m not _against_ it, just because I hadn’t laid out a whole plan. And you’re here, so if you really want to—“

“Yeah, I think I kinda do, as long as it’s not an inconvenience. I’d like to explore this more with you—I think your explanation really helped and all, but there’s something to be said for hands-on-experience,” Steve smiled.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Says Mr. Blow It Up First, Ask Questions Later.”

Steve’s guilty smile was really more adorable than it should have any right to be… especially given the smile involved guilt over grenades and 100mile-an-hour car chases… Danny just sighed his exasperation over his partner, and ended up teaching him to braid hair—first practicing on some of Gracie’s Barbie dolls, then on Danny. Looking in the mirror, he didn’t do too bad a job at all. And Steve even let Danny put two pink ribbons in his hair and a necklace around his neck. The jewelry lesson turned out to be kind of fun too—not that Danny had a lot of jewelry to work with (Steve made a mental note of that for future birthday ideas). Turns out, less-is-more with jewelry—you need just enough to draw the eye and set off natural features, but not so much that you look gaudy. Well, learn something new every day.

They watched the game, drinking beer, hair-do’s and jewelry and all; for a time, Danny even sat cross-legged in front of Steve while he practiced the braid a few more times. It was like a manly slumber party.

The Rays won: 7-3.  Neither one of them really cared.


	7. Chapter 7

The following week was bad. And not for any forseeable reason. Oh, it started off fine enough—robbery on Monday, solved by Monday afternoon. (How stupid of a burglar do you have to be to drop your cell phone and then come back for it while the house is swarming with police?)

But Wednesday. Wednesday could really have been a lot better. A lot, lot better. Especially if Five-0 hadn’t been called… or if Danny just hadn’t had to be there.

It turned out that there was a convention going on. Not particularly unusual for the getaway-destination that was Hawaii. But this convention was… unique. The North American Cross-Dressing Association was hosting their annual conference here—a retreat for cross-dressers to meet up, feel free to be who they wanted to be, and enjoy some company and relaxation away from prying (and judging) eyes.

Then one of them got pushed out a fifth-story window.

“You’re sure he was pushed?”

“Preliminary evidence does seem to indicate that, yes, Commander,” Max confirmed. “As you can see here, there are signs of bruising, and it seems the victim may have scratched his attacker. I’ll know more once we are back at my laboratory. However, there are clear signs of a struggle.”

“Couldda just been rough sex. You know how these pervs all like it rough,” a passing HPD beat-cop said.

Danny’s jaw clenched, but he remained silent.

“The broken window would not support that hypothesis, officer,” Max supplied, before Steve could jump in. Seemingly oblivious to the insult, he continued, “What would lead you to conclude that sexual intercourse was being had?”

If the nameless officer was surprised to have his snide remark taken seriously, he showed no sign of it. Instead, he aborted his erstwhile trajectory and turned to fully integrate himself in the crime scene, surrounded by the members of Five-0. In response to Max’s inquiry, he scoffed, commenting, “Well, this was a big freak convention right? That’s what they do.”

“It’s not an _orgy_ convention,” Danny bit out.

The officer rolled his eyes. “Like getting a bunch o’ these people together won’t become one. The proof’s right here,” he gestured to the prostrate corpse at his feet. “Besides, why’re we devoting all these resources to this anyway? Look how many cops we’ve got out here, plus, now Five-0? It’s one dead freak; not like anybody’s gonna miss him.”

Danny took a deep breath. He’d heard all the insults before; _this was just another bigot_ , he tried to remind himself; he’d long-ago learned to take such comments in stride (or so he thought, choosing to overlook the fact that he still wasn’t willing to express this part of himself outside the safety of his own apartment). So why could he feel his face growing red with anger… and was it really just anger?

Maybe he was finding himself so riled because now someone else knew—now Steve was standing there, hearing this guy say all these awful things about someone—someone like him. And now someone else knew how personal this attack was. And Danny couldn’t stand it.

“That man may have had a family. Children. A spouse. Parents. Siblings. People who will wonder where he is, why he isn’t there anymore!” Danny tried desperately to make his defense sound like anybody’s would—general concern for the victim, not personal.

The unnamed officer scoffed again. “A child?! Who the hell would ever want to have a child with someone like him?! And parents? Yeah maybe, but they’ll probably be relieved to be rid of him, if they’re even still speaking to him at all.”

Danny opened his mouth to say something, then felt a gently firm hand on his shoulder, steadying him. Only then did he notice that he needed the steadying—he was literally trembling with rage. He didn’t need to look around to know it was Steve’s hand grounding him, bringing him back under control.

Then, Steve’s voice emanated from behind his trembling shoulder. “You’re judging a person’s entire worth by the outfit he died in, officer. I think you’d better think over the appropriateness of that line of deduction. Best yet, think it over over there,” Steve gestured about 100yards away, “where you can keep some of the gawking public in line.” The entire delivery was incredibly calm and civil—nothing like what Danny would have managed; Steve seemed downright advisory and sage-like, donning benevolent counsel.

The cop’s eyes narrowed, but he turned to leave, replying, “I’m a Corporal, not a beat-cop.”

“Don’t you say a single thing like what I just heard you say here to any of the onlookers, or I’ll have you busted down to Cadet!” he threatened, quick and sharp, acid clear in his voice; the sudden dispositional shift that changed on a dime only added to the intimidating delivery. 

The cop turned and squared his shoulders, raring for a fight. Steve’s arm tightened where it was still holding on to Danny.

“You can’t really be siding with these pansies—the great Steve McGarrett Navy SEAL! Oh, that must be it—you were in the _Navy_. I didn’t think they let that type into the SEALS, though.”

“You mean the type that could kick your—“

“Hopoi’i! I believe the Commander just gave you an order, correct?” Captain Fry interrupted, having just arrived.

“Yes, sir!”  the cop, Hopoi’i, answered.

“Then, as your superior officer, I suggest you follow it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Along with his advice against repeating whatever it was you said here to so rile the usually _calm_ _and collected_ head of Five-0.” The irony and threat in Fry’s order were clear; no one in their right mind would go out of their way to pick a fight with a Navy SEAL, let alone the infamously tactically-unpredictable McGarrett. 

As the underling shrugged and walked away, waving off curious pedestrians, Max filled the tense silence: “Obviously, Commander, I will do a thorough exam and test for any recent sexual activity. However, I do not believe—“

“I know, Max. And we all trust your professionalism to handle this case just like you would any other. Let us know what you find,” Steve interrupted, wanting to get this investigation over with as quickly as possible. Not only was Steve himself now pissed, but Danny seemed to be more than ‘on edge’—he looked like he’d be more comfortable sitting on razor wire than he was right now.

“Remind me why we were called in on this?” Kono asked, running a gloved hand around the perimeter, searching for stray pieces of broken glass that might contain a fingerprint or other forensic evidence of use.

“Because the governor does not want Hawaii to get a reputation as an unpopular destination for the LGBT community. They bring in a lot of tourist revenue to the island—disposable income and all that.”

“LGBT? Hello, politically correct law enforcement. When did you get so enlightened?” Captain Fry asked.

“I’m up on my terminology. What of it?” Steve said, a touch of defensiveness and fight-readiness lingering in his voice.

“Nothing, Navy-boy,” he dismissed, a lightness in his voice trying to alleviate some of the tension (though still implying a “light-hearted” dig at the other man). “And no need to get your panties in a twist over Hopoi’I over there; I wasn’t here for the whole thing, but word is he tends to run off at the mouth a bit. He was probably just trying to ingratiate himself—“

“By insulting and stereotyping an entire group of people?” Steve’s anger seemed to war with his incredulity. Danny’s shoulders just slumped in dejection; Steve felt the downward motion, only now realizing he was still holding on to the shorter man.

Steve let his hand slide off, trailing the length of Danny’s arm before breaking contact—an attempt to impart further comfort, even while Steve himself struggled with his own temper.

Fry shrugged. “Anyway,” the HPD Captain pushed on in his usual acerbic yet business-first manner (an asset here, as he pushed the focus back to the priority of the body still lying on the pavement), “I just finished talking to the witnesses over there, none of whom saw anything useful-- just heard the crash and saw the body falling. No one remembers seeing anything helpful—some say there might have been a shadow in the room, but really, you know eye-witnesses; it’s just as likely they’ve concocted the memory—let’s face it, most of them weren’t staring at the fifth floor _before_ the window broke. By the time they would have looked up, if there was anyone, he was likely gone, and all the people down here would have just been staring at the falling body.”

Chin, Kono, Danny, and Steve all nodded; they knew the problems with eye-witness accounts as well as anybody.

“So, any news on your end?” Fry asked.

 

After filling Fry in, Chin and Kono headed up to the fifth floor, joining the forensics team in searching the victim’s room. Steve and Danny headed to the hotel manager’s office. Halfway through interviewing the manager (who himself had some less-than-politically-correct sentiments regarding ‘these trouble-makers’ (despite the fact that this convention had never before seen any such disruptive events, unlike many a bachelor/bachelorette party or sporting convention)), the manager was called away to offer an official statement to the press.

Normally, Steve would have insisted he finish with the interview, but he was perfectly happy to seize the opportunity to give himself and Danny a break from the pompous ass, whose every other word revolved around his “stellar hotel” and “outstanding accommodations”—it was like listening to a flipping sales pitch instead of a criminal investigation.

Sighing his relief at the brief respite, Steve turned to his partner. “So, Chin and Kono clearly got the better task today,” he joked. Typically, pouring through the details of a crime scene and monitoring forensics was not Danny’s favorite part of the job; but after this nit-wit, he was willing to bet Danny’d trade in an instant.

Instead of the hoped-for chuckle, however, Danny gave a sigh of his own in return.  “Ain’t that the truth. In fact, I’m thinking I should have traded jobs with _anyone else on this island_ for this entire week.” He placed his head in his hands, bent over his knees.

“Aw, come on, D. I happen to _know_ you could never have handled Swimming with the Sharks tour operator, or surf instructor, or hiking guide, or lifeguard, or ---“

“Ok, ok, I get it. I’m only good at one thing on this damn island! I just wish it weren’t this case…”

Steve got quiet for a minute, before venturing to ask, softly, “Did you know this convention was going on? Have you ever thought of going to it, or one like it?”

Danny looked up sharply. “No, I’m not on the mailing list, Steven. I didn’t know it was going on. And no, I would never have come even if I had known. Because look—look at what happened—someone’s been killed—“

“Danny, people die doing all kinds of—“

“—and his whole life is being put under a microscope. And his whole value as a person is being questioned. By morons like that officer Hopo-whatever his name was—“

“Exactly, Danny, he was a _moron_ , he doesn’t matter.”

“Of course he matters, Steve! Because his moronic and bigoted opinion is the opinion of most of the people in this country—in this world! So of course he matters. He’s the _whole world_.”

“Not the _whole_ world, Danny. Not all the people at this convention. Not you. Not me.”

“And what if I’d have been here, Steve? Then HPD and Chin and Kono would be interviewing _me_ , as a potential suspect or witness or whatever, and I’d be on record as having been here, for this reason—because I’m—“

“because you’re you, Danny,” Steve cut him off. “And you’re allowed to be who you are! Did you see any of your colleagues side with that asshole cop today? Did you? Did you see me back down or get embarrassed when he started insulting me?”

“It’s different with you, Steve. No one believes it for a second with you.”

“That’s not the point, D. _I_ know it about me. _You_ know it about me.”

“Well, and even if you came out and proud – _which you haven’t_ \--, people at least, at least a lot of people now, they can kind of _understand_ you. They’ve come to accept—at least sometimes—the notion that a man can like another man. But that a man would want to put on a skirt and makeup? No way. That’s too far beyond the pale. There’s no way I could keep my job if that came out.”

“That’s not true. You’ve got a stellar reputation—what is it, how many cases have you closed now? People won’t care about—“

“Steve, that’s crap and you know it. You’re from the _military_ for crying out loud—“

“Exactly Danny, and as long as you do your job—“

“Steve, _thousands_ of people were discharged—“

“Things are changing, Danny, you see it every day—“

“What I saw today was a cop who was so confident that making fun of a transgendered _victim **lying at our feet, dead on the pavement **_was a sure-fire way to ‘score points’—you think I’d be able to deal with that shit _every day?_ ”

“You’re a strong person, Danny, a fighter.”

“You want me to fight my coworkers and my boss?”

“I’m your boss.”

“Exactly—you want me to do what you haven’t even done? Talk about something not coming up—Steve, you’ve never mentioned your own ‘proclivities’, and I’m supposed to parade mine to our coworkers?”

“I’m not asking you to come out, Danny. I’m just saying that if you did, it would be _ok._ I’m trying to show you that you have people in your corner, who will always be in your corner, and that you don’t have to live your life like a hermit.”

Danny shook his head and blew past him, returning to the earlier concern: “Besides, _Boss_ , the Governor is _our_ boss; _he_ could ask me to leave—I’d be told I’m ‘damaging the reputation of the task force’ or ‘of the Islands’ or breaking some hidden morality clause in our contract or something.”

“There are anti-discrimination laws—“

“Most of which have yet to be formally extended to people like me. Or, in many states, even to people like you. But even with the protection of the laws, the comments—you don’t get it; you’re Super-SEAL, you can kick ass if anyone so much as blinks at you the wrong way. Me? I’ve spent my whole life having to be tough before anyone could think to pick a fight with me—because most of those early fights I lost. Plus, I don’t belong here, I’ve got a tenuous link to this island at best—I’m not some Hawaiian hero the Governor or the people are going to indulge or stick their neck out for or try to understand; I lose my job or my daughter and what have I got?”

“You’ve got me. You’ve got Chin and Kono and Max and—“

Danny just cut him off with a dejected and frustrated sigh. Before he could continue, the office door opened and the manager walked back in, ready to finish up the interminable interview.

 

Walking out of the manager’s office another 15minutes later, much still hung in the air between the two partners.

Alone in their walk through back corridors to meet up with Chin and Kono, Steve said, “Danny, I want to remind you that—well, first, I guess, that it’s your life, so you get to do with it what you want. Wait—“ Steve held up his hand as Danny opened his mouth to speak. “This means that not only does society not get to tell you what to do, but _I don’t either_. You want to go to a convention like this, go. You want to stay in your apartment when you dress, stay. It’s not my call; it’s yours.” At that, Danny’s jaw snapped shut.  “Moreover, you should know that I _do_ know about this part of you now, and I don’t judge you or belittle you or change my opinion of your value—your life isn’t under some additional microscope, your relationship with Grace or how well you do your job—none of that has changed in meaning from my perspective… And if you are really concerned that no one else ever finds out, instead of your porn buddy, I offer my services as your clothes buddy.”

“Wait—what?”

“You know, in case anything ever happened—and it won’t, because you’re going to see that beautiful little girl of yours grow up and give you grandchildren someday—but just in case, I go to your apartment and get rid of all the incriminating evidence. Usually, that means porn. But for you, I can clear out the incriminating clothes and accessories.”

Danny, after a moments consideration, nodded once and looked quite touched by the offer.

“And finally—“

“Whoa, there’s more?”

“Yeah, there’s more, so shut up and let me finish—“

“Ok, ok, I’m just saying, when did you become so emotionally fluent, and when did you have time to think up this here little spiel?”

“I’m growing. Give me credit. And I’m on a roll. Plus, I had all that time that that manager was droning on about the luscious plants and grounds and how immaculate the mini-fridges are and blah, blah, blah. Could that guy have been any more obnoxious?”

Danny snorted.

“But, actually, he’s kinda my last point anyway—or, related to it. I just, well, I’m not really sure what I wanted to say here other than to tell you that not everyone thinks like he does or like that idiot beat-cop does—“

“He’s not a beat-cop—“

“He will be, trust me.”

“Steve, you can’t—“

“Come on, Danny. His conduct at the scene was not only derogatory and completely over the line, but it showed a distinct lack of professionalism _and_ raised concerns about his ability to _do his job_.”

“Steve, I do not want to demote someone just because they’re an asshole about one particular issue. And, moreover, I don’t want to draw attention to the situation…”

“Danny, this will not come back on you. This is about the fact that he was completely willing to ditch an investigation simply because he felt no one would care about the victim—or that the victim didn’t deserve justice. Never mind the fact that there’s a killer at large out there. We don’t chose to protect certain populations or people over others. That kind of attitude is why people don’t trust cops—the poor and the minorities think cops don’t care—“

“I know, I know, I worked in Newark, remember? I don’t need a lecture, Mr. Idealist.”

“I’m not an idealist, Danny, I’m just saying—“

“I know, Super SEAL, I know what you’re saying,” Danny sympathetically intoned, patting his back. “And, for once, I actually 100% agree with you. But I still don’t want his demotion to blowback on either one of us.”

“Don’t worry about it—I’ll talk to Fry. He seemed unhappy with the guy’s conduct anyway—at least his insubordination.”

Danny nodded.

“So, you said you had a final point, right? Somewhere in all this?”

“Ummm, oh, yeah. That not everyone is a jerk, Danny. Not everyone is a bigot.”

“I know that, Steve. And if you confront and talk to many people, and actually ask them to think about what they’re saying, maybe they actually don’t agree with the off-hand remarks they make. But most people do make those insulting and demeaning remarks. And I don’t want to be a full-time ambassador against a culture which insidiously sends the message that one gender is better than another and that people like me who cross that boundary—and do so in the “wrong” direction—are, at worst, dangerous perverts and, at best, jokes.”

Steve thought for a moment. “I’ll give you that it’s insidious and permeated, but not everyone voices those opinions. Like I was trying to say earlier, you’ve never heard Kono or Chin or me make such a comment—your _ohana_ is on your side.”

Danny’s eyes grew suddenly sad and then seemed unable to hold contact with Steve’s.

Steve looked puzzled at Danny’s reaction. At first, he thought maybe Danny was flattered or embarrassed  or finally internalizing the support. But then it dawned on him: “Oh my gosh, I did, didn’t I? I said something? Did something? What was it? I swear I didn’t mean it, Danny.”

“It’s nothing, Steve.”

“No, tell me. Tell me what I did.”

Danny remained silent, staring to his right at some fascinating speck on the floor.

“I know I’ve never roughed up anyone—a suspect, or, or whoever—for being gay, or, being… like this.” Steve knew his word choice probably wasn’t helping matters, but Danny hadn’t actually given him a “politically correct” vocab list. And even then, being politically correct didn’t mean the person you were talking to wouldn’t take offence—if the pc terms were still prejudicial or biased in some way (or if they themselves just preferred other terms).

“It was nothing, Steve,” Danny insisted, turning to walk away.

Steve grabbed him by the arm, turning him back to face him. “Tell me, what was it. It was something, Danny, and it matters.”

“Why does it matter, Steve?”

“Because it matters to you. Because I did something I clearly shouldn’t have, and it hurt you, and I can’t stand that.”

“It didn’t hurt me, Steve. I’m fine. You even braided my hair last weekend—I’d say we’re more than fine,” Danny tried for some levity, to shake off both the question and Steve’s arm (which maintained its firm grip and prevented Danny from turning away again).

Steve shook his head. “Please, Danny. It does matter. It did hurt you—or you wouldn’t remember my doing it, would you? And even if you didn’t care, someone else—someone nearby could have heard or seen whatever it was. And what kind of example is that? Then I’m just another cog spinning with the culture—spinning in the wrong direction.”

Danny looked at Steve’s earnest face, genuine concern evident in his big brown eyes, and sighed. “It was that day, that awful day actually—the case that was worse than this one.” Steve showed no sign of knowing which case he was referring to; Danny couldn’t blame him really—they’d worked a lot of truly horrible cases—far too many. “The one with the bomb… with the motion sensor. The day I told you about Grace—the first Grace.” Steve nodded, remembering one of the worst days of his life—standing there thinking he was going to lose Danny, learning, as he sat there staring at his partner and willing him to be still, to be calm, to come out of this, learning just how close he came to losing him before he ever even met him. “Well, that morning, that morning was the morning I had taken Grace shopping for her Father-Daughter Dance dress, at the shop Max’s niece suggested, and you said, when I showed up, you said—“

“I made a joke,” Steve whispered, memory washing over him and a look of epiphany and utter guilt on his expressive face.

“You said, ‘Something I should know?’ and something about a plunging neck line…”Danny quietly supplied.

Steve audibly groaned, then said, almost to himself, “I had heard you were late because you were dress shopping, and obviously it was for Grace, but I—“

Danny shrugged. “See, no big deal.”

“But it was.”

“No, it really wasn’t,” Danny said, resignation in his voice, genuinely believing his words. He wasn’t just trying to make Steve feel better; he genuinely believed that it was just one of those things, one more comment in a list of comments, one more snide remark in a string of snide remarks, one more joke in a mountain of jokes. “It was just another off-hand crack. Everyone makes them every day—sometimes I’m at the receiving end, sometimes I’m just overhearing a conversation or watching a sitcom. It wasn’t malicious, it wasn’t an attack—“

“But it was malicious, Danny. That’s just it. Because a comment like that is based on an entire basic assumption that’s malicious—that if that dress _had_ been for you, it would have been wrong or lesser in some way, that that would be something to make fun of and to ridicule.”

Danny just shrugged again.

“Danny, I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine, Steve.”

“No, Danny,” Steve spun him and grabbed both his shoulders, forcing eye contact—the sincerest eye contact Danny could ever remember having, ever, in his entire life. “I really am, really, very sorry.”

Danny looked at how hurt Steve was by the knowledge that he’d made such a thoughtless, though trivial and passing, remark. Though again, every bucket of water is made up of untold numbers of individual drops—Steve was clearly devastated to know he’d contributed to that hatefully poisonous bucket; there was nothing trivial in that to Steve—nor should there be to anyone, he supposed.

Danny couldn’t help but forgive him. Oh, of course he would have said he forgave him anyway, and he would have thought he meant it, too. But now he _really_ meant it—it seemed something worthy of actually forgiving, because to Steve the comment was really, very clearly, something worthy of begging sincere forgiveness for.

And for the first time, Danny actually felt himself moving on from something—from a slight or an insult or a transgression. For the first time, he felt he’d received a _genuine_ and _heartfelt_ apology. It was a radically amazing experience.

Somewhere in the back of his head he was happy Steve had discovered his secret; if he’d been a more philosophical man, he would have realized that it was Steve’s very nature—from barging into his apartment and discovering him, to discovering his wrong and sincerely regretting it—that made this very moment possible at all.

But Danny, though intelligent, wasn’t prone to that sort of philosophizing. So he appreciated the experience for what it was, cherished it, told Steve as much, and then moved them on—back to the reason they were here in the first place: to find a killer and find justice for a victim.


	8. Chapter 8

The investigation lasted three more days—through a series of twists and turns—which ultimately led them to an enraged former client of the victim (a real-estate agent). The murder, it turned out, had nothing to do with the victim’s preferred attire, and everything to do with a collapsed housing market, foreclosures, and a very obsessive, disgruntled, and resourceful former home-buyer with a score to settle, poor anger-management, and more strength than he knew.

In that time, the only terms Chin, Kono, Max, and even Fry used to refer to their victim was, indeed, ‘victim’ or ‘vic’ or, once they learned it, the victim’s proper name.

Whether this propriety and civility was due to how upset both Steve and Danny had been at the earlier bigoted comments, or whether a conscious (or unconscious) decision to distance themselves both physically and symbolically from Corporal Hopoi’i, or simply because by habit or nature that was the way they were inclined to discuss the man (by neutral rather than pejorative terms), Danny wasn’t sure. But he definitely appreciated it.

Still, he breathed a sigh of relief when the case was resolved.

Conversely, his breath caught for a moment upon learning that Corporal Hopoi’i no longer went by _corporal_. He let it out again when he learned all Steve had had to do was share his concerns, in a very professional way, with Captain Fry. The two men may squabble over jurisdiction and priority, but they each expected the highest pursuit of justice from their teams. Simply recounting the former-corporal’s comments had been enough to cast serious doubt on Hopoi’i’s character in that regard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a public-service announcement: I am currently in an extremely intensive summer program and updates will be slow-in-coming for the next two weeks; in fact, it is incredibly likely that there will be no updates for the next two weeks, and that only after mid-July will I be able to take some time to compose the next chapter. 
> 
> Apologies, but I hope you stick with it!


	9. Announcement on Updates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Announcement about when to expect updates

Dear All, 

Firstly, apologies for causing any excitement at a long-overdue chapter that turns out to not be a chapter. So sorry. 

I thought I owed you all an explanation for why there hasn't been an update in so long. Basically, the short of it is: after working an intense, short-term position from June through July, I managed to severely injure my back and have spent the past two weeks lying prone... It's very hard to type while lying flat on your back, or while you're asleep 12hrs a day from pain killers. I finally got the insurance to cover some physical therapy, which right now is actually making it hurt worse, but hopefully I'll soon be back in functioning order. 

In the meantime, I think it's important that you know that I have NO intention of giving up on this story. And that I've been deeply touched and appreciated all the comments you've left. I'm so glad you have stuck with it thus far, and hope you'll stick with me a little further... 

I hope to have another chapter updated sometime within the week; if necessary, I'll dictate it to someone. 

Here's the thing-- I feel so bad about how long I've left you all hanging, that I want to open to floor to suggestions; if anyone has any particular idea of something they'd like to see happen in this story, now's your chance to make a request. I can't -promise- I'll address it, but I promise to at least consider it. Since the responses to the story have been so amazingly receptive and enthusiastic (I was seriously astounded and elated-- I'd not seen other stories like this, so really wasn't sure how it'd be received, but figured if -I- wanted to read something like this, at least one other person must want to, too... right? What's that quote-- "If there's a story you want to read but it doesn't exist, it's your responsibility to write it"... or something like that?)-- anyway, given how invested some of you seem, I thought you might have ideas/hopes for the characters/story arc. 

Besides assuaging my guilt, I thought it'd be fun to see if anyone has any ideas-- give me something to daydream about as I continue to lie here...


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many sincere apologies for the long delay in continuing this story.  
> I cannot promise the rate of future updates-- only that there /will be/ future updates. 
> 
> Thank you to all of you for your well-wishes regarding my health, for your patience in awaiting new chapters, for sticking with the story this long, and for your excellent and inspiring ideas (posted in response to the previous posting). If you stick with me long enough, you'll see several of those ideas incorporated. 
> 
> Also, a reminder that from here on out, the AO3 chapter labels will be off by one count because the previous posting wasn't actually a chapter of the story. 
> 
> I hope you like the chapter-- I know it's been a long wait; I hope it doesn't disappoint :(

The case of the man thrown out the window having lasted until Saturday, it was an extremely short weekend for Five-0. Crises averted with the LGBT community and tourism office did not mean the rest of the island made peace. After only one day of rest, Five-0 was back to the grindstone.

They worked two cases that week—a set of diamond earrings stolen from display in the state museum and the murder of a businessman (a friend of the governor). The sought-after weekend was long overdue; even though they managed to make it out of HQ by 4:00 Friday, they all felt as if they’d been working round-the-clock for much longer than five days.

So, when Steve gave them another weekend off (barring any international incident), the Governor didn’t argue—and neither did the team.

In lieu of the typical _ohana_ hangout at the end of the week, the team went their separate ways on Friday; having seen more than 14-hours of each other every day for essentially over a week, no one seemed to have a problem with the idea of a little alone-time.

Steve spent Friday night at his home with Catherine and a movie, but called it an early night, using the exhaustive work-week as an excuse.

Danny, meanwhile, spent his evening lounging on his own couch, idly flipping through the channels. Finally given some downtime, he was at a loss to explain the listlessness he felt. He used to love his rare days off—a chance to recuperate and rest, “get away from the crazy” he liked to say. Yet, rather than relaxed he felt anxious—like something was missing. His thoughts kept turning to Steve—wondering what the other man was doing… and then trying not to wonder when he realized he was likely with Catherine. He knew he had no right to have that turn his stomach; hadn’t he been encouraging Steve to get out more, spend time on a ‘real’ relationship? It must just be that he knew Catherine wasn’t really making Steve happy—that he should be out trying to meet someone new… But if he was out, that didn’t make Danny feel any better either…

Danny had known there was something on the back-burner between he and Steve for a while (at least in the Danny-to-Steve direction); but, until recently, the notion that it was even a remote possibility that those feelings could potentially be reciprocated meant he’d built a concrete emotional wall and forced those feelings behind it. But now, with all the time they’d been spending together (on and off the job), and with Steve getting to know the ‘real’ him and not only not running away but being so unexpectedly supportive… Danny shook his head, this was ridiculous. Just because Steve was interested in men didn’t mean he was interested in Danny. Danny was probably just a curiosity to him; or, if not a curiosity, then, as Steve had said, his first real friend in a very long time—Steve was just invested in not losing the friendship. That’s why he’d gone to so much trouble on Danny’s behalf. And Danny allowing his romantic interest to grow would not help anybody; it would only jeopardize the friendship that Steve was working so hard to maintain. And Danny didn’t want to lose that friendship either. That’s all this had ever been—friendship. Friendship, friendship, friendship. And mistaking that for something else wouldn’t help anybody… That made sense, right? Right. That’s all it was—friendship…

In fact, everything Steve had done for him, while amazing, should probably come to a stop. Though Danny enjoyed the company and confidant, it was only a matter of time before Steve would want a less demanding ‘bro’. Yeah, in the interests of maintaining the relationship, the growth of which he did appreciate, he probably should resurrect some boundaries soon…

Plus, if Steve got fed up, who knew what he could let slip to someone else…

Danny’s swirling thoughts followed him to bed, where he spent a restless night.

~*~*~*~

Saturday morning saw Steve up for his usual crack-of-dawn swim, followed by a shower, a trip to a local attire store, and a quick stop for malasadas. After Catherine had left last night, he’d found himself itching to see Danny once more, having only managed to fall asleep after hatching this grand plan for the next day.  He called Danny from the parking lot of his building.

“Steven?”

“Morning, Danny.”

“That’s once again the problem, Steve. It’s still morning. On my day off. We’ve been over this. Why are you calling me in the morning of my day off? Why can’t you let people sleep, like a normal, considerate co-worker?”

“Is that all I am, a co-worker, Danny?” Steve teased, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice; he knew Danny was purposefully needling him, knew he didn’t really mean they weren’t friends; he intended to give a friendly gibe right back-- didn’t want to feel the pang in his gut.

“Oh, stop the pouty face, you big softee-SEAL,” Danny chided, sleep still evident in his rough voice. “What’s going on?”

“I thought I’d call before I came over this time.” He paused. When Danny didn’t fill the silence, he asked, _not_ desperately, “Can I come over? I got malasadas.” _How pathetic. Was he offering a_ bribe _to spend time with his friend? Really?_

“I, uh…” _Boundaries, Danny, boundaries,_ his inner-voice chided him; but he was too groggy from a restless night to listen to it. “…yeah, ‘course,” Danny seemed to abort whatever he was going to say and default to his normally indulgent demeanor with Steve.

Steve was not one to be asked twice. Two point four minutes later he was knocking on Danny’s front door.

“Holy shit, Steve. What were you calling from, outside the door? Oh my G’d, you were, weren’t you? You freak.” Danny smiled a sleepy smile at him, as he took the malasadas from Steve’s hands. “Coffee. Must have coffee.”

Steve produced two cups as Danny started the pot—he’d need more than one cup, anyway.

“What’s that?” Danny asked, pointing at the package under Steve’s left arm.

“Uh, for after breakfast. Sorry I woke you,” Steve added, somewhat lamely. He should have waited longer, he knew how Danny liked to sleep in.

Danny eyed the package suspiciously, but let it pass—a testament to how much he needed that morning coffee. “It’s ok,” he said, changing tracks. “Thanks for the breakfast. Two weekends in a row—malasadas no less. I’m starting to think you’re no longer concerned for my health. Don’t you _care_ , _darling??_ ” Danny intoned.

“Har-har. I care. But, you were good all week—I even saw you eat a salad for lunch.”

Danny shrugged. “Grace called, told me about all the healthy food they’re eating at that camp—apparently she’s loving it, and she called to ask Rachel if she could stay another two weeks, and of course Rachel said yes, leaving me to be the bad guy if I so egregiously wanted to see my little girl sooner than _a month_ from the last time I saw her—argh, anyway, so Grace is still at camp and telling me how I should be eating healthy just like they are. Between the two of you, I’m going to die of a heart attack but with excellent cholesterol.”

“Is she in some kind of heart-attack-inducing trouble?”

“No, but just the thought of her growing up, dating, driving—oh dear, Lord.”

“Ok, right, let’s just enjoy that she’s still 10, shall we?” Steve suggested, handing Danny a warm malasada.

Danny nodded, taking a refreshing gulp of coffee. With the caffeine jump-starting his neurons, he finally thought to ask, “Wait, weren’t you seeing Catherine last night?”

Steve broke eye-contact as he bashfully admitted, “Um, yeah…”

“Oh Lord, but you’re here now. Please tell me you didn’t just kick her out of bed this morning like some mannerless ingrate.” Danny’s stomach turned at both the thought of them together _and_ at the thought of himself as the ‘other woman’. _Stop thinking like that!_ he chided himself.

Steve looked both shocked and appalled at the suggestion. “No! Of course not! I wouldn’t… not to Cath anyway. We just called it an early night. … I found I didn’t really want to spend the evening with her after all…” he added, as response to Danny’s raised eyebrows and unvoiced query. 

“Ah, well, I suppose that means we really should start finding you someone you _do_ want to spend time with, huh? Maybe tonight you should hit up a local men’s bar…” Danny suggested, though he notably did not offer to accompany Steve; even though he owed him for all the support he’d shown, he just didn’t think he could handle playing wingman for the man he was clearly developing feelings for. _Shit_.

Steve just shrugged noncommittally, looking oddly disappointed.

After his second cup of coffee and third malasada, Danny broke the uneasy silence by asking. “Ok, so, what’s in the bag, Mr. Morning?”

Steve looked simultaneously excited and unsure— _that face…_ Danny thought.

“Well, did you have plans? For your day off?”

Danny tried to shrug nonchalantly, but didn’t meet Steve’s eyes. “Not really… Well, mostly the same as last Saturday. But that was tentative, because I thought you might show up—you tend to do that, it seems,” Danny gave a small smile as he said it.

“Well, um, I know you probably need to unwind after this week,” (they both huffed sighs in recollection of the hellish week they’d had), “but, I thought you also might like some… company?” Steve seemed so unsure at this last suggestion that Danny was actually surprised. “So, I had an idea, you know, to accomplish both—make you more comfortable.” Danny raised his eyebrows, curiosity rising markedly. Steve reached in the package and pulled out two brightly colored pieces of fabric: one an electric sky-blue, the other a brilliant fushia; both had swirling floral designs printed in a lighter shade of their predominant color.

“What’s—“

“They’re traditional Hawaiian ceremonial sarongs. I mean, technically, they’re not just for females, but they are essentially like skirts—well, maybe more the fit of a toga? But a topless toga--- you know what a sarong is?”

Danny nodded—he had the general gist.

“And there are two, because…?”

“Because I thought if I wore it with you, it’d make it easier for you?” Steve suggested, again, unsure. “Maybe it’s a dumb idea, I shouldn’t have presumed---“

“No, it’s—it’s not a dumb idea. It’s, wow, that’s really nice, Steve. I don’t actually know what to say.”

“Well, I mean, if this won’t work, then, just tell me. We didn’t really get into the specifics last week—I don’t know what kind of clothes you need, so if this isn’t what you want…”

“Steve, they’re beautiful. Which one is for me?” Danny asked, reaching out his hand to feel the fabric.

“I thought I’d let you pick.”

“You didn’t just get the pink one for me?”

“The lady said it was fuchsia. And no. Actually, the blue one made me think of you; I thought it’d look great with your eyes—“ Steve snapped shut his mouth, seeming to realize what had just come out of it.

Danny paused for a moment, looking at him, taking in the sincerity of his comments and the… _fondness?_ in his eyes.

“I, uh, actually would have a great top to wear with the blue one… I mean, I know men don’t usually wear them with tops—“

“It’s not Hawaiian culture day,” Steve pointed out. “The point was to get you to be comfortable and me to… participate, kind of.”

“Ok, um, yeah. I’ll go get dressed.” Danny stood, taking the blue fabric from Steve’s hand. “I still need to shower. You can do whatever; it’ll take me about half an hour, probably.”

Steve watched Danny close the bedroom door behind him and heard the shower being turned on. He opted to hide himself out of view of the window as he shimmied off his cargo pants and put on the sarong. It wasn’t particularly hard for him to wear the skirt-like article, as he’d worn them while participating in some of the traditional Hawaiian celebrations when he was a kid. The color… that was new. But he could handle that. He was secure in his identity. He could do pink. Besides, it was only Danny who would see.

Steve left his t-shirt on, feeling awkward at the thought of lounging around Danny’s apartment shirtless in a pink sarong while his friend wore a… blouse? Ok, so the whole thing was unconventional, but given the lack of beach or traditional celebration, the shirt seemed the way to go.

Making himself comfortable on the couch, Steve picked up the book Danny had been reading and began to leaf through it. It seemed to be a coming-of-age tale, set in the 1920’s. He’d never have pegged this as something Danny would be into. Then again, he was learning all sorts of new things about his partner.

About thirty minutes after he’d left the kitchen, Danny re-emerged. He was wearing the blue sarong (and Steve was right—it set off his eyes in a breathtaking way) with a white sleeveless v-neck top; small, flowered cut-outs lined the collar and arms, along with some white frills. He’d styled his hair down—parted on the right-hand side; it actually was a fairly flattering arrangement on him, in some ways nicer than the way he always slicked it back.

No makeup today. And no nail polish.

Danny walked over to the sink and got himself a glass of water.

“So…you look nice,” Steve said, as Danny turned to face him, glass raised to his lips.

Danny’s eyebrows rose as he continued to drink his water.

“No, eh-hem,” Steve cleared his throat, “really, you—I was right about the blue, it really brings out your eyes…” Steve lowered his eyes and looked away. _Stop saying these things! You’re going to freak him out!_ he mentally chastised himself.

Steve looked back up as he heard Danny choke on his water. A few seconds later had Danny wheezing to a right-beside-him concerned Steve, “’M fine. Just went down the wrong pipe.”

‘Sorry… I uh, shouldn’t have said… but you do, you know—look nice. Your hair, it’s…good.” _Wow, could he be more awkward?_ “So, do we do our nails again, or…?”

Danny looked at Steve quizzically; the SEAL didn’t usually trip over himself this much. “Um, no, I think, this is good… anything more might be a bit much…for today.”

Steve looked at him questioningly. “Why?”

“I just, this is the most I’ve ever worn in front of someone… I think make-up or nails or jewelry would just…push it too far.”

“Ok, I get that. But you know I’m ok with all this, right? Just so we’re clear.”

“Yeah…” Danny still sounded uncertain.

“Come on, I bought you clothes. I let you paint my nails, D. I’m wearing what is, for all intents and purposes, a pink skirt.”

“Right, and I appreciate that… I just don’t understand _why_ you’re doing it.”

“We’ve been over this.”

“Right, we have. Sorry.” Danny seemed to curl in on himself, turning around to get more water from the tap. It wasn’t like Danny to back down so quickly, to seem so unsure. Steve thought he could almost hear Danny silently remonstrating himself for being too ‘needy’ or trying.

“Danny—I’m sorry. I just. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Wrong?” Danny asked, genuine surprise in his voice. “You’re not doing anything wrong, Steve. Well, aside from making me get out of bed before noon…” Danny jibed weekly, hoping to get a smile out of his friend and restore a lightness to the atmosphere.

“You still seem… unhappy? Maybe I should just go.”

“No! I, I’m not unhappy. I’m just… unsure. I like spending time with you. I just, I don’t understand why you’re doing all this.”

“Because, Danny, you’re my friend.” Steve looked a little hurt that he had to remind Danny of this essential fact.

 _Friend. And Nothing More_ , Danny repeated to himself, trying to force the words to sink in, quash his seemingly irrepressible hope.

“Steve, babe, I know you don’t have many friends—“ Danny saw Steve’s hurt expression grow even more evident, “that wasn’t meant as an insult! But you said so yourself, right? That I’m the best friend you’ve had since you were a kid,” Danny’s mouth twitched up in a kind of embarrassed/flattered smile and his cheeks colored ever-so-slightly. “But, what you’re doing here—this is above and beyond what most people would do.”

“I’m not most people, Danno.”

“I know, I know that. And it’s not that your… support?... is unwelcome. I’m just…” Danny took a deep breath and looked down at the floor.

“You’re just what, Danno?”

“I’m just concerned that you’re going to get tired.” _There, he’d said it._

“Tired of what?”

“Tired of… all this,” Danny gestured to his apparel.

“Danny, this is part of you.”

“Exactly…” Danny took a deep breath. “I’m concerned you might get tired… of me.”

Steve’s eyes widened in genuine shock at the thought. “ _That’s what you think?_ That’s not even _remotely_ a possibility, Danny. I think three years as partners should be enough to prove that I’m not going anywhere.”

“Except to North Korea. Or Japan,” Danny couldn’t resist the snide remark.

Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re never going to let that go, are you? At least I tried to call you last time! _You’re_ the one who didn’t pick up the phone!”

Danny held up his hands in surrender, “Alright, alright, fair enough on that one.” He paused, his face growing serious once more. “But still, those three years of partnership were before you knew about this part of my life.”

“True, but I’ve been enjoying spending time with you these last few weekends, you know.”

Danny shook his head as if to dismiss Steve’s statement. “Right now this is still new or intriguing to you in some way or, I dunno, _something_. But what’s to say you won’t get sick of my wanting to stay in and ‘dress up’” (Danny mimed air-quotes) “and eventually move on, find someone new to spend your Saturdays with?”

There was a pleading in his voice—Steve could feel Danny was actively trying not to _beg_ for reassurance, trying to safeguard a part of his dignity while still making his concerns known.

“I know that that won’t happen…” Steve trailed off, unsure if he really ought to continue—this had _not_ been in the day’s plan—but, the look on Danny’s face made him continue. “You’re too important to me, Danno,” Steve confessed, unable to meet his partner’s eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do without…” Steve mumbled, then abruptly changed track, looking up resolutely and forcefully declaring, “I don’t _want_ to know what I’d do without you around. So, we stay in some Saturdays or some Sundays or whatever day you want. We hang out on my beach and watch the surf, drinking beer, watching sports most nights anyway, right? So, why would that change? We come home from work, I make dinner, you put on a dress, nothing changes—nothing meaningful anyway” Steve added the last as rebuttal to Danny’s silent skepticism.

“Nothing meaningful?”

Steve sighed in frustration. “I’m not… you’re not getting it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not belittling that this is ‘a thing’ ok, that it’s of importance to you. But I’m trying to make you see that we can work it into our lives without a problem, ok? Nothing has to change, except you get to be who you are in front of me, and I still get to be—to spend time with you. Like we always have. Is that such a bad thing?” Desperation was starting to crack into Steve’s voice.

Danny’s lips twitched upwards as he bashfully gazed back at Steve. The man’s dedication to him and earnest desire to make this work was evident. He really just didn’t know why he was worth it, what Steve was getting out of this... “No, actually… that sounds pretty nice… Sorry I’m being so difficult.”

Steve shrugged. “I get it, I guess. If I were in your shoes, I’d probably be a little concerned myself.” Then, as Danny nodded and took another drink of his water, Steve smiled.

“What? What’s that smile for?”

Steve’s smile grew. “Nothing. Just, that’s gotta be the first time you’ve ever apologized for ‘being difficult’, isn’t it? And you’re difficult _all the time, Danno._ ” The glint in his eye did not go unnoticed by Danny.

“ _Me_ difficult? Says the man who has blown up more buildings on this island than a freaking _volcano_!”

 Relishing the restoration of their typical dispositions vis á vis one another, the familiar ease and banter, Steve asked, “So, is there a game on?”

“Um, yeah, pre-game should be starting up about now if you wanna switch it on.”

Steve headed over to the couch, Danny grabbing a bowl of trail mix and two refreshments and following.

About an hour into the game, after a particularly bad call by a ref which had both men berating the television, Steve looked over at Danny and just flashed him a blinding grin.

“What?” Danny asked.

“Nothing. I’m just having a good time.”

“Even after that call?”

Steve chuckled. “Yes, even after that call. We’ll make it up, don’t worry.”

Danny shook his head ruefully at Steve’s illogical optimism but ultimately smiled as well. As he got up to grab them two more beers from the fridge (during yet another commercial break), he steeled himself and decided to ask what he had swore he was going to let go, was _not_ going to even entertain… but he just couldn’t: “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“What you were saying before, about hanging out after work, making dinner while I changed wardrobes?”

Steve adjusted his position on the couch so he was turned toward Danny, attentive. “Yeah?”

“Well… this is nice, the game, the company. It’s a good Saturday.”

“Yeah, I think so, too.” Steve smiled and took a long pull of beer. “What’s that have to do with what I was saying earlier?”

“Mmm, it’s more that, this is a Saturday thing, yeah? Two guys getting together, hanging out—albeit in skirts.” Steve grinned as Danny lips quirked upward. “But dinner and a dress after work. Well, that all sounded rather domestic, don’t you think?”

Steve’s heartbeat kicked up, he felt caught-out. “Well, it’s not like we don’t grab dinner and watch a game after work some days already, right? Whenever we close a case.”

“Yeah,” Danny conceded, noticing Steve’s discomfort—stiff shoulders, tense muscles; “But, I don’t keep a set of clothes at your place--let alone a dress and makeup and hair curlers… I mean, what you were describing sounded a lot more… involved.”

“I, uh, sorry. I didn’t…um, we could do dinner here—though,” Steve looked around, “grilling steaks is probably not an option, given that you have no grill. But still, that could all happen here, ok? No big deal.”

“Right, sure,” Danny nodded.

They finished the game in uneasy silence for the first few minutes, but a bad call and several emphatic outbursts later had them back where they normally were—comfortable friends at ease with one another… and, lately, in fetching outfits.


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to sincerely apologize to you all for the inexcusable delay. Truth be told, there have been some personal matters on my plate-- health issues, career issues... but I should have made updating more of a priority. I hope for those of you who've been awaiting an update that 1) you're happy you stuck with it, and 2) you still remember what's even going on here... 
> 
> More updates -will- come. Again, I can't guarantee a timeline, but this story has a lot ahead of it, and I won't give up on it. 
> 
> Your feedback is always appreciated it, and has done a lot to ensure I didn't abandon this work. Do please keep it coming. 
> 
> Also, I want to thank those of you who gave me such excellent suggestions and ideas for this story. Many of them will ultimately be incorporated. One of them is sort of being incorporated right here, even... 
> 
> I have no beta; all mistakes are mine.

Something Danny had said was stuck in Steve’s craw. Back during that convention investigation, back when Danny was all angry with Steve for suggesting Danny might consider attending such an event, Danny had leveled the accusation of hypocrisy at him – that Steve himself remained ashamed of who he was (or, if not ashamed, then at least secretive and, thus, dishonest...and, therefore, implicitly ashamed).

Steve didn’t like it. He wasn’t mad at Danny. Because, honestly, the more he thought about it, the more Danny seemed to have a point.

Steve didn’t like to think of himself as a hypocrite. He supposed nobody did, actually. But he’d been trained to be the upstanding patriot, the good guy, the pursuer of justice. Hypocrisy was an enemy, not an ally, to those endeavors.

For years he’d not felt he was being hypocritical. After all, in order to keep his job, he had to keep part of who he was under wraps. So he changed a few pronouns when he discussed his weekend affairs. So he made sure to look for willing partners in a discrete way. So what? It was necessary. If anything, it was the military being hypocritical, not him: telling him they wanted him there, that it was ok for him to be who he was—as long as nobody found out.

But then DADT was repealed. And Steve hadn’t seen the need to correct the… misguided assumptions about his sexuality. It had seemed _de riguer_. After all, he wasn’t seeing anybody—not really. And, moreover, he’d already been with Five-0 by the time Congress passed the legislation – and it’d been even longer before it’d actually been put into effect. By then, he was just in the reserves. Why bother setting the record straight?

Anyway, it had seemed to make sense at the time… it was rational. He shook his head as his conscience unapologetically reminded him that he had first-hand experience with people rationalizing all sorts of behavior… “I _had_ to kill her; I had no choice!” “I was only going to run the drugs that _one time_ —who was it gonna hurt, anyway?” “But I was in a tight spot; it wasn’t _my_ fault!”

And he despite his efforts, he was not blind to the fact that the answer to the “Why set the record straight now?” question had the following answer: The countless individuals who might benefit from others being forced to confront their biases or preconceived notions, from the blow against the stereotype. Yet these considerations had not factored into the equation – they had been forcefully pushed under a hefty mental rock during that particular calculation…

Plus, just because he had chosen not to think about it, didn’t mean he hadn’t realized his excuses didn’t seem to fit when it came to Five-0. There’d never been a DADT policy in place there; but something had still stopped him from telling his colleagues, his friends, his _ohana_. Chin, Kono, Danny…

But Chin, Chin was his dad’s friend… he had a certain impression of Steve, expectations. Chin was one of the last links Steve had to his dad; he didn’t want to taint himself in the man’s eyes. _Taint himself? Is that really what he thought? Shit._

And Kono. Well, Kono actually probably wouldn’t care—hell, she’d probably have set him up with half the island by now. Which is exactly why he didn’t tell her; she would not have kept that secret--- and definitely not from Chin. Plus, well, what if she _didn’t_ take it well? Sure, he’d told Danny his team wouldn’t judge him, but in Steve’s own case… well, could he really be _that_ sure?

But he hadn’t even told Danny, his self-proclaimed best friend.

Which is exactly why he hadn’t told him. Danny didn’t come off as a homophobe, but he was a ‘tough guy’ from all accounts. And he had such a mouth on him. And Steve loved the give-and-take they had. What if all that had changed? What if Danny had gotten uncomfortable around him? Didn’t want to hang out just the two of them anymore? …What if he started suspecting Steve didn’t harbor just friendly feelings towards him? What if that forced Steve to recognize he’d be right?

Yeah, the reasons for not having told Danny were obvious.

And yet, now Danny knew.

And things were good.

Ok, so a little of that “is this more than friends?” suspicion may have been aroused by Steve’s suggestion that they hang out at his place and Danny could dress in his ‘secret clothes’ there… but it had all ended well enough. And Steve would just be more careful in the future to try not to imply anything. He could do that.

He didn’t want to spook Danny. But maybe someday… if Danny were open to the possibility… he never _had_ answered the question as to whether he was interested in men…

But only if Steve could keep from saying stupid things like “You look really nice” or “It brings out your eyes.” _What_ had he been thinking?

Well, he hadn’t obviously. It’d been a gut reaction; Danny _had_ looked so nice…

Steve needed to get a hold of himself. _Focus_. _Don’t screw this up for your best friend_.

Ok, anyway, where was he? Oh, right, being a hypocrite…

Maybe it was time to come out. To Chin and Kono at least. Then take it from there? I mean, the world was not going to get better if people weren’t brave enough to make it better. And setting a good example, challenging stereotypes… that was important. Showing people that LGBT individuals were _people_ , they had hopes, dreams, loves, fears, hobbies, jobs, virtues, vices, skills… all the things everyone had. That’s how things had got as good as they had today anyway; the first openly-gay advocates taking the brunt, but pushing things forward… the more people got to know gays, the harder it had become to dehumanize them, to deny them rights. “Oh, I hate the gays… but Bob’s a good guy, I like Bob, and I’m not against _Bob_ being happy…” Empathy and familiarity… those were important political tools. And so it mattered what he did; if civilians-- if _kids--_ could be this brave, surely _he_ could!

Plus, it also mattered for _his own_ happiness…

The first step would be Chin and Kono. If they accepted him, then it’d be alright. Then maybe he could be more open. And Steve was tough—he could take ridicule. Right?

It’d almost be easier to take from strangers, though, than people he cared about; people who he felt close to. What if Chin and Kono didn’t react well? What if Chin was _disappointed_ in him?

Steve shook his head. _Stop thinking like that_. _It’ll be fine. All those things you said to Danny? You meant them. They love you, they’re good people, they’re your ohana, they’ll accept you_.

But what if…?

No, it’d be fine. Maybe it’d take them a little while to adjust, but it’d be fine. Besides, one day, if he did find the type of relationship he was looking for (or, if by some miracle Danny was interested…) he’d want to be able to share his life with these people. And if he couldn’t, well, he should probably find that out now. He was a grown man; he was financially stable; he had no excuse not to do this.

Had Danny been around, he may have pointed out that Steve was, actually, incredibly emotionally ill-equipped to deal with losing people close to him; that he was an emotional train-wreck of a f*cked-up childhood, lies, and post-traumatic stress and should really probably be in therapy for all those things….

But he wasn’t around, so Steve told himself to “man up”, then chastised himself for using such sexist and gender-norm-loaded terminology, and then remembered what had started this circuitous mental dialogue in the first place: how could he look Danny in the eye and tell him it was ok to be who _he_ was, if Steve couldn’t even live that for himself? Steve, with the “lesser transgression” of simply liking men, as opposed to “acting like a woman” or “adopting femininity in all its adornments” (though some would still say he was “acting like a woman” by sleeping with a man… and yet, shockingly, that was still less taboo than wearing a dress… what a world… what a “logic”…)

Anyway, right, he had to do this, for Danny. Kinda like Danny always said he was trying to make the world safe for Grace; how he _had_ to be a cop, _had_ to protect this island and make it safe because it was her home now… Steve guessed that’s what you did for the people you loved; you tried to do whatever you could to make their lives better, easier, happier. And Steve could do this. For Danny.

Rationally, he also knew he also had to do it for himself. Not just because, to be honest, he would (hopefully) ultimately benefit, but because if he said he did it all for Danny and then things went south or he expected some sort of _gratitude_ that Danny didn’t express… then he’d blame and resent Danny… yeah, you shouldn’t come out for other people, you had to make the decision of your own accord, for your own reasons.

But Steve knew, deep down, that despite his noble intentions for the “LGBT youth” and the “future of the world” and building “progressive culture”, and despite his more personal reasons to come out, such as his own piece of mind, in living his life on his own terms… despite all that, Danny was his kick-in-the-ass. If not for Danny, all those reasons… he could push them aside, just a little longer… hell, he’d not even have re-opened this door he was considering walking through if he hadn’t literally re-opened Danny’s door and caught him in that dress…

“Considering walking through…” No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t considering anything anymore. Somewhere along this meandering mental path, he’d made up his mind. He’d steeled his resolve.

Damn. He was really gonna do this.

Thank G’d he’d forgotten his coffee that day.


End file.
